


Resilience

by Melpomenis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-07-27 01:46:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7598698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melpomenis/pseuds/Melpomenis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He tries to avoid eternal incarceration in that grim prison, and retrieve the only thing left in his life, his son. She tries to rebuild her dignity, after a heinous crime against her, seeking justice by her own hands. Two enemies, one pact and a whole conundrum ahead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unpleasant Incident

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, welcome dear reader. This story is set right after the end of DH and it will be an AU from this point. Fluffy romance? I'm afraid not. Shiny happy people? You are in the wrong place. This story is about the strength to face and survive the worse adversities you can imagine, hence the title 'Resilience.' A meeting with an unexpected ally and a journey to seek justice and revenge. Special thanks to my friend and beta 'the artful scribbler.' Without her, this idea would surely remain locked in my mind.

 

_If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?_

_ William Shakespeare_

... 

_Anguish...Fear...Despair..._

_I'm roaming through the forbidden forest, wondering where Harry is. The night's cold wind sinks into my bones but I keep walking forward, making my way through the trees… I stop dead. I'm sure I heard a noise. Footsteps, coming closer… Frantically I search for my wand. I see a hooded figure approaching, its wand levelled at me… I turn and run. The branches hit my face as shouted spells and curses fill the air… Suddenly, my wand flies out from my hand. I'm disarmed. A deep, rough, masculine voice growls, "You wait until the others catch you, filthy mudblood," and then he murmurs something I can't quite catch… All I can feel is a terrible burning pain in my shoulder. "No! Please!" Stop, stop, stop…._

I jerk awake in the middle of the night with a scream, again. There is nothing to hear, except the sound of my erratic breathing. I rub my eyes and fight desperately to calm myself.

_Calm down Hermione. It was just another nightmare._

Just another? Yeah, right. I reach for the silver mirror on the nightstand with a shaking hand, and I cast a Lumos with the other one. I'm not a pretty sight. There are deep grey shadows under my eyes, and my face is whiter than usual.

Somehow, I'm not surprised. Those dreadful dreams have been tormenting me since the battle of Hogwarts, when I… No, I will not think about that. It's been months anyhow, and that one horrible, vile act has been almost eclipsed in my mind by something else…worse…the strange spell he cast before he…

I need a solution. I don't want to look like an Inferius every time I stare at the mirror. I need these nightmares to stop.

Hopefully, I haven't woken up the entire Burrow this time.

Well, better not to think about that now. Better just close my eyes… and all my thoughts disappear as sleep embraces me again. 

...

The sound of the rain awakens me from a troubled slumber. As my eyes vaguely adjust to the light, Crookshanks climbs onto the bed and purrs softly against my face. I stand up, stretching my arms and head towards the door. The hall is empty but as I walk downstairs, the unmistakable sound of Mrs Weasley berating her husband and the guys, fill the atmosphere.

"Ah! Hermione. A good morning to you!" says Mr Weasley as I approach the table. His voice is hearty, but I think I can detect worry in his eyes.

"Good morning, Mr Weasley." My voice sounds awfully hoarse and tired; I covertly clear my throat.

"Hermione, dear," Mrs Weasley greets me, as she pours orange juice for everyone. "Come, breakfast is almost ready."

I smile and help her with the dishes. A loud sound on the stairs startles me, but I relax as I realise it's only George and Ginny making their way downstairs. I can see Ron behind them, smiling down at me.

"Oh, Merlin's Beard!" cries out Mrs Weasley, staring daggers at her noisy family gathering around the table. "It sounds like I've raised a herd of centaurs instead of children!" I suppress a giggle, and then Ron gives me a peck on my cheek.

"Good morning, 'Mione," he greets me with a bright grin, scraping the chair next to mine noisily out. "Sleep well?"

"Morning Ron," I answer, flushing a little, wondering how on earth it's possible he didn't hear me last night. By the looks on all the other faces at the table, he was the only one. "Well… I… hmm…"

"Another nightmare?" asks Ginny warily, serving herself some toast.

"Oh… It was nothing, really," I say, anxiously trying to force a smile for Ron's sake. "Just some bad dreams I keep having."

"Just some bad dreams?" Ginny repeats my words disbelieving. "Hermione you were screaming like a Ban–"

"Ginny!" interrupts her mother sharply, shaking her head at her daughter's lack of discretion.

"It's okay, Mrs Weasley," I say quietly. "I guess I probably woke half the house up." Beside me, Ron has gone tense, and I can sense his smile has disappeared. I can't bring myself to look at him.

"What exactly do you keep dreaming about, dear?" Mrs Weasley asks gently, concern furrowing her face.

My mouth has gone very dry, but right there and then, I decide to be honest. I can't keep pretending that there's not something seriously wrong. "Well… it's not always the same," I haltingly begin to explain, my eyes fixed on the plate. "Sometimes I dream I'm at the battle again, other times I'm running through places I don't recognize, or…" I let it trail as I take a deep breath, then mumble, "…or I just dream that someone is torturing me."

"And you've been taking sleeping draughts–"

"Draughts, charms, muggle pills… all of them together… I've been trying everything," I say, my voice trembling with frustration. "Nothing works!"

"Hmm…" muses Mr Weasley, after a long pause. I look up and see him exchanging a worried glance with his wife.

"What is it?" I ask, "Please, we are f-family here," I stutter a little over that painful word. "If there's something I should know, just say it now."

There is a pause, then, Mr Weasley clears his throat and says, "It… appears as if there may be some kind of curse upon you."

For a moment I stare at him in utter shock. I can feel my face going pale. "Excuse me?" I gasp.

"Oh, you poor thing!" Mrs Weasley exclaims, piling more toast on my plate, as if feeding me up will somehow negate the awful truth.

Mr Weasley continues solemnly. "You said you're having these dreams since the battle?" I nod my agreement slowly, still dazed with shock. "It makes all the more sense then. At some point during that day, a follower of You-Know-Who, must have hit you with a dark spell."

"Why do you keep calling him by that, Arthur?" flares up Mrs Weasley. "It's just a name, and _Voldemort_ is dead." She emphasizes the final word, as if reassuring herself for the fact.

"Sorry, Molly dear," his husband replies. "It's just the old habit."

I hardly hear this exchange. One terrible realization crowds out everything else.

Cursed! I had been cursed!

"But that's impossible!" Ron suddenly interjects. His voice is pained. "Hermione was with me in the castle the whole time, even when Harry went to face Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest. I would have noticed if something happened!"

I shudder at the mention. I haven't told him – or anyone for that matter – that I left the castle that night to follow Harry, let alone what happened to me in the forest…

"Tell them, 'Mione!" Ron persists, turning to me. "I didn't see anyone curse you–"

"Enough Ron!" Mr Weasley curtly overrides his son, making me jump as well. "Give Hermione a break, would you? You can see she's… not well."

Ron colours, then turns silently away, and begins to stab a piece of bacon with his fork. I wince, feeling I'm somehow to blame for his anger. The conversation is terminated, and an uncomfortable silence presses upon us.

I watch everyone eating warily and let my thoughts fly away.

I'm so oblivious to my surroundings, that I barely register a hard thudding sound in the window. I look up at Ron, dazed.

"It must be Pigwidgeon." He snorts, clearly still upset.

And he is right. The little grey owl flies happily around the room, dropping letters into the laps of the respective Weasley. I receive my copy of The Daily Prophet as usual, but my eyes widen in terror when I read the headline.

_'DEATH EATER FUGITIVES STILL AT LARGE'_

_'The magic community is disturbed by the lack of information about the whereabouts of four Death Eaters, who authorities say may have survived the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Name, last May the 2nd at_ _the grounds of Hogwarts. The bodies of known Death Eaters Dolohov, Rookwood, Rowle and Yaxley have not been recovered or sighted since then. It is assumed they are alive, and may be hiding to avoid incarceration in Azkaban._ "The Ministry is doing everything necessary to recapture these absconders with a view to permanent imprisonment, for their multiple unforgivable crimes," _said the new Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, in an exclusive interview with The Daily Prophet_. "This presents a new challenge to the Ministry, as these people could potentially be anywhere in or outside of the country. However, we've alerted the International Wizarding Community about the danger these criminals represent". _The Minister had also offered a reward of 2000 Galleons, for anyone who can provide any information leading to the recapture of these fugitives.'_

My mind feels numb. They are still free? That's unbelievable! I can feel a mixture anger and fear building inside of me, but mostly fear.

"Something interesting in the news Hermione?" the mild and amicable sound of Ginny's voice brings me out of my horrified reverie.

"I… it's just…" my voice trails off in a whisper. I point to the headline for the family to see.

"Ah, yes. Terrible isn't it?" Mr Weasley says, reaching for some coffee. "The Ministry is enforcing and applying new laws in order to find them. We are under huge pressure."

"That explains Percy's troll face lately," George says with mock-seriousness drawing a round of nervous laughter from everyone.

"Many are suspected of having links with them," continues Mr Weasley, ignoring his son's last remark. "The Floo network is being monitored and apparition has been forbidden, unless you have a special authorization signed by Kingsley himself. But those cases are rare; at the moment only Aurors are able to apparate."

That's… extreme. The Ministry must be really desperate by taking those measures. True, that would stop illegal transportation and make the task easier, but it would be useless in trying to locate them. I read the Death Eaters' list carefully again, memorizing every name of it. So, one of these bastards is responsible for cursing me, and of… well. I'm almost sure of it.

But what if he is not one of them? What if he just died that day alongside his master and other followers? No, that definitely can't be. The curse is the prime evidence of it. Although I don't know exactly its origin, one fact remains clear: the caster has to be alive. Otherwise, he wouldn't be able to look inside my mind, and feed upon my innermost fears.

I wish I could find them. Although it's a treacherous task. I mean, it would not exactly be like catching pixies or butterflies. But then, I've already been hunting Horcruxes before…

Wait a minute. Am I really considering pursuing those Death Eaters all by myself? I must be going insane. But it's so frustrating knowing that they are out there, and even the best Aurors haven't caught them.

_Like an almost nineteen-year-old girl could? Wake up Hermione!_

And besides, capturing them wouldn't give me a cure for this curse. That would require someone with extensive knowledge in the Dark Arts, as well as some experience with Death Eaters. …Oh, dear Merlin, this is simply not fair.

_And since when has life been fair?_

I flick to the next page of the Daily Prophet, while everyone continues chatting. Instantly my eyes fix on the moving photo. A man with long platinum hair and a gaze as cold as ice, stares harshly at me: Lucius Malfoy. Below, I read the headline.

_'THE MALFOYS' DRAMA'_

_'Another misfortune has struck the Malfoy family. It is no secret that the patriarch of the family, notable ex-Death Eater Lucius Malfoy, has been beset with difficulties in his bid to secure freedom, after the Ministry rejected his petition to be exempt from standing trial for his involvement in the war, three months ago. However, his troubles have been compounded by the sudden disappearance and probable kidnapping of his only son, Draco Malfoy, last week. The Daily Prophet understands that the disappearance is thought to be connected with the recent revelation that four Death Eaters survived the war and remain at large (see page 1). Motives of revenge or ransom have not been discounted._ "The disappearance could be related to Malfoy's (snr) last-moment defection from Voldemort," _explained Henry Macmillan, head of the Investigation Department at the Ministry._ "Those who were loyal to him may have considered this as a betrayal, meriting retaliation." _Mr Malfoy has made no comment and remains secluded at his manor, awaiting his upcoming trial on August the 10th, where he will be sentenced for his war crimes. Meanwhile, Aurors are working hard to recover Draco Malfoy, hoping to avoid a second tragedy since Narcissa Malfoy's death at the battle of Hogwarts, at the hands of the Dark Lord himself.'_

What?! Malfoy kidnapped? Surely it has to be some kind of joke!

I've already heard about his father's situation of course; Harry told us. It seems like he's co-operating with the Ministry, but things are not going to be quite as easy for him this time. They really are considering sending him to Azkaban, and everything hinges on the outcome of his trial. And suddenly I realize that I… I feel sorry for him. I shouldn't, not after what his maniac sister-in-law did to me under his roof, but I can't help it. Having lost his wife and now his son missing, and unable to do anything about it? Of course he deserves some kind of punishment, but it seems too much, even for him. After all, he may be truly sorry for being a Death Eater…

My mouth snaps open with a sudden realization. Of course! How did I not see it before? HE is the right person!

My mind is whirling with thoughts. As a defected Death Eater, Lucius Malfoy has the experience and knowledge I need with the Dark Arts, if I'm to find a cure for my problem. Not to mention that he might know where those fugitives Death Eaters are hiding out, as they were his…no, 'friends' is definitely not the right word. More like 'fellows' yes, that's it.

I excuse myself from the table and run quickly back to my room. The door closes with a loud slam but I don't care. I have to think over this carefully. If I convince Mr Malfoy into helping me, not only could he find a cure for the curse, but he could also aid me in locating those ruffians.

_And what makes you think he might want to help you?_

Because, in the end, he has no choice. Helping me would give him the chance to find his son, and his freedom as well! Because one thing is clear: if he's found guilty at the trial, they'll lock him in Azkaban and throw away the key, and somehow I doubt that idea would appeal to him.

The cool air of the room makes me shiver a little, so I decide to take a hot bath. I'm about to pick up a couple of fluffy towels, when Crookshanks jumps on top of my Daily Prophet, scratching at it with his tiny paws.

"No, Crooks!" I snap, hurriedly shooing him of.

He was just about to disfigure Mr Malfoy's face on the photo! Fortunately, the text is still intact.

I check for the trial's date. August the 10th.

Oh God, that's next Monday!

I've got a week to contact Mr Malfoy and convince him to help me. How am I supposed to do that? We don't exactly have the best of relationships.

Maybe I could ask Harry for help?

I know he is going to attend the trial as a witness, so perhaps I can persuade him to speak in Lucius Malfoy's defence. That way, we'll have the perfect excuse for giving Mr Malfoy a visit before Monday.

So it's decided. As soon as Harry arrives at the Burrow, I'll talk with him about this. I just hope Mr Malfoy is not hostile to me. That cold, piercing gaze of his is enough to give me shivers.

But then I smile, when I see the scratches Crookshanks made on his picture.

Well, at least he seems a lot nicer with those scars upon his face.

I grin grimly to myself, and step into the bathroom.

...

It is past three when Harry finally arrives. I'm sitting on a couch facing the fireplace, sharing some chocolate frogs with Ginny, and reading _'The Tales of Beedle the Bard'._

"Amusing yourselves?" Harry's joyful voice makes us gasp at the same time; he takes his seat besides us.

"Harry! You almost gave us a heart attack!" Ginny pushes his chest playfully.

"Sorry," he murmurs, "I didn't wanted to interrupt your err… exciting reading." I don't miss his derisive remark. "Honestly, Hermione. You've read that book at least one hundred times!"

"Harry James Potter," I speak out and suppress a grin when he flinches a bit, "This is actually an assignment, rather that leisure reading."

"Oh?"

"Hermione wants to translate the tales from ancient runes," explains Ginny, showing him a copy of my project. "I never thought I'd say this, but I'm beginning to enjoy ancient runes too. Hermione is quite the professor."

I smile at my best friend. At least my efforts are not in vain.

"Well, I'll definitely read your translation when it's done," he says sincerely.

"How are things with the Ministry?" I ask him, "Did they approve your request?"

"Yes, they did." He unfolds a parchment and hands it over for Ginny and me to look at. "The Auror Department just sent me their answer this morning," his voice trembles with excitement. "I begin my Auror training in two weeks."

"Harry! That is great news!" I exclaim. "I'm so proud of you!"

Ginny throws her arms around him in a fierce hug of congratulations. "So Harry the Auror, is it?" she says.

Harry smiles into the eyes of his beautiful girlfriend, and for a moment I feel a little envious of that closeness, the strength of connection between them.

"Yeah," he mutters wistfully. "How lucky am I?"

Ginny laughs. "It's not luck, Harry, you deserve it." Then, jumping to her feet she tugs him up. "C'mon Harry, you have to tell the others!"

I follow a little behind and watch the announcement and celebratory bustle from the doorway. I don't want to interrupt. I haven't seen Harry look this relaxed and happy since… I can't remember when.

Later, after the excitement of the household has settled, I approach him. "Harry, can I speak to you for a minute?"

"Sure, Hermione," he says, looking at me curiously. He follows me upstairs, until we reach the room he shares with Ron.

I halt under the threshold and peep at both sides of the hall, looking for any signs of an intruder.

"Hermione, what's going on?" he asks warily as I close the door behind us, "Is something wrong?"

"Harry I want to ask you a favour." He raises his eyebrows and I wait for him to nod before I continue. "Do you remember that I've told you about my nightmares?"

"Yes…you're not still having them, are you?"

"Worse than ever," I answer bitterly. "Apparently, I've been cursed."

"Cursed?" his eyes open up in bewilderment, "But how–when?"

"I–we think it happened during the battle of Hogwarts," I stammer. "It was an accident, I…" I'm struggling with the words; I bite my lip nervously.

"Hermione…" I flinch as his voice hardens, "What are you not telling me?"

_Calm down. Just relax._

I take a deep breath and compose myself.

"The night of the battle when you surrendered to Voldemort in the forest…" I hear myself speaking in a studiously calm voice. "You told Ron and me to stay in the castle, remember?"

Harry nods slowly.

"I lied," I confess. I drop my gaze towards the floor, ashamed. "I followed you into the forest."

"What?" He frowns, then panics. "Blimey Hermione! Why did you do that? I thought–"

"I know, I know!" I interrupt him, my voice no longer calm. "But I was afraid for you! I didn't want you to die!"

I'm getting hysterical.

He is tense too, but manages to continue. "And did you find me? Did you see when Voldemort…well…attempted to kill me?"

"No. I lost your trail, and then I got lost myself."

He's eyeing me with concern. "And something happened when you 'got lost' didn't it? What happened to you, Hermione?"

For a moment I'm silent. I want to do anything except answer that question. I know it will hurt him to hear, as much as it will me to tell. But I don't have a choice.

"I was attacked by Death Eaters," I gulp, staring down at my shaking hands. "I dueled with one of them, but he disarmed me."

Then I lift my gaze, and meet his bright green eyes, eyes which are now brimming with alarm and fear.

"He pinned me against a tree, and then all I remember was an awful, burning pain, in here." I point at my left shoulder blade, rubbing it. "And then…I lost consciousness."

Well that is half the truth, at least. I don't want to dwell on the details of what happened _after_ I recovered consciousness…

"And who was it?" Harry asks urgently. "Did you see his face? Did you recognize him?"

"No, he had a mask covering his face and was hooded as well," I reply. "But it was d-definitely a male...judging by the voice," And other things, I don't say.

Harry's expression is grim. He begins to pace about the room, evidently thinking. I gravitate over to a wooden bench by the window and sink down onto it. "Harry," I say, "I'm sure - positive - that he's one of the missing Death Eaters."

He looks at me questioningly. "How can you be sure?"

As briefly as possible, I explain my hypothesis to him - the constant nightmares, the ongoing pain, the torment I experience each night... and why the caster needs to be alive. "That's why I need your help," I say in conclusion, standing up and moving over to him.

He shakes his head helplessly. "Hermione, what can I do? The Aurors are already doing everything they can to try and catch them. "

"It's not enough! How long will it take to catch them, Harry? Months? Maybe years?" I feel hot tears sliding down my cheeks but I wipe them furiously. "I...I can't go on like this."

Harry draws me against him, trying to comfort me. "If there was another way, you know that I would -"

"There IS another way!" I cry fiercely. "The ONLY way! We have to get help from someone with insider knowledge. Someone who understands the Dark Arts."

Harry stares down at me, confusion in his eyes. "But I don't know anything about that stuff."

His sincerity and earnestness makes me smile, despite everything. "I know that, Harry," I say gently. "...But you'll be meeting a person who is something of an expert in this field next week."

He looks genuinely flummoxed. "What do you mean?"

"You are still attending Lucius Malfoy's trial, aren't you?"

"Yeah, but what does it have to do with..." His face drains of colour as realization hits him, and he falls back a couple of steps. "Oh, no, Hermione. No way. You cannot be serious."

"I'm always serious, Harry," I reply, my voice calm once more.

"Lucius Malfoy?" He snorts incredulously. "Hermione!"

"Why not?"

"Because he is a dark wizard!"

_How observant, Harry._

"Exactly!" I snap, fighting another wave of hysteria. He is staring at me as if had three heads.

Logic Hermione.

"Harry don't you see? If we have Mr Malfoy on our side, he could not only help me find a cure for this curse, but also help the Aurors find those missing Death Eaters, and bring them to justice! This isn't only about me, Harry."

A long pause envelops us. "I think you have a point, Hermione," he says at last.

Oh, thank God.

"But what makes you think he would help us?" he asks. "What can we possible offer him instead? He isn't exactly the sort of man who bestows favours out of the kindness of his heart."

"Think about it, Harry. His son is missing, presumed kidnapped by these same people. His freedom is at stake. If we can convince the Ministry to drop the charges and have him help us capture those criminals, he has absolutely nothing to lose, and EVERYTHING to gain!" My voice is trembling with excitement. "I think that is enough reason don't you?"

Harry nods. "I guess you're right," he replies.

"I know I am," I say.

"Alright, alright. I'll owl Mr Malfoy tonight."

A glister of hope. A light in the obscurity. "Oh, thanks Harry! I knew I could count on you!"

He moves over to the door, but turns back to me before he reaches it. "Have you told...anyone about this crazy plan of yours?"

I know what he means by _anyone_. "Not yet," I answer. "And please don't tell anyone. Especially him...Ron."

He gives me a look. "You know you'll have to tell him sooner or later, Hermione."

I do hate it when he is right.

"I'll talk to him… later."

"Alright." He reaches for the doorknob and draws open the door. "Aren't you coming down?

"I'll join you in a minute."

I watch him disappear through the threshold, then move back to the window.

I gaze outside, watching the afternoon sky. The clouds are parting, and I can see a ray of sun breaking through. Things might be at last looking up. 

...

It's been four days since Harry wrote to Mr Malfoy, but we haven't heard anything back from him. My concern is growing.

I'm starting to think this was a bad idea.

_Get a grip, Hermione. You have no choice. You've just got to sit tight..._

Of course, that's easier said than done.

Patience is a virtue.

Well, maybe I'm not virtuous, then. I can't help worrying. Malfoy's trial is in two days time, and if I don't hear from him before than, the plan will go to hell.

...

Okay, I need some serious distraction. Otherwise, I'll go mad locked up here in The Burrow.

I decide to make a trip to Diagon Alley and spend the day there. After convincing the Weasleys of let me go alone – without Ron – I use Floo powder to travel to the main high-street. I can't help but stare in amazement at how much this place had changed since the end of the war. Lots of new shops grace the Alley, and the atmosphere is rather a joyful one.

I enter Flourish and Blotts, and locate my area of interest on the upper floor. There has to be some book that can give me some information about rare and dark curses. I pore over the book-spines, shelf by shelf, but after a long time the only books related I find are, ' _The Advanced Defence Guide against Dark Forces'_ and ' _The Forbidden Book of Curses: An Approch to the Dark Arts'._

Well, it's a start!

I buy both copies and exit the shop. I'm about to enter Florean Fortescue's for an icecream, when I hear someone calling my name.

"Hermione! Over here!" I turn, instantly recognizing that voice's owner. It's Harry!

"Harry? What are you doing here?" I ask, flabbergasted by his sudden appearance, but equally relieved.

"We need to talk. It's urgent," he explains a little hurriedly. I have a pretty good idea of what it's about, but before I can reply he hushes me. "But not here. Come with me."

I follow him down the street until we reach The Leaky Cauldron.

Inside, it is dark and shabby as always, and we sit down at a table in one shadowy corner, out of the light of a low-hanging brass chandelier suspended from the dusty ceiling.

Harry orders a couple of Butterbeers, but I get straight the point. "It's about Mr Malfoy, isn't it?" I demand, my nerves on fire. His face is calm, but it only makes me even more anxious. "What did he say?"

"He agreed," Harry says, passing me a hand-written scroll containing Mr Malfoy's reply. "He expects us in his Manor tomorrow, at nine o' clock in the morning."

His Manor? Oh, no…

_What did you expect, Hermione? A meeting at a coffee shop? He is detained in his house!_

I know. It's just… I'm not sure how I'll react once I am under that roof again.

Well, there'll be no sadistic Bellatrix this time. Only him, – Mr Malfoy. That can't be worse, now can it?

"Hermione," Harry begins, obviously thinking the same as I, "are you sure you want to do this?"

I take a sip of my drink. "Yes, Harry. I need… no, I MUST do this," I say with fierce determination. "I can't stand it anymore, it's the only way."

He nods in agreement. "So be it, Hermione." He raises his glass of Butterbeer. I do the same, "Cheers," Harry says, and I drink with him.

It's done, there's no turning back now.

And it's not just about myself. How many others have suffered the same as I did, and no one did anything about it? Well no more hesitating. This isn't about revenge. It's about justice, and I'm not going to wait for someone else to serve it, when I can take it in my own hands.

 

 


	2. Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed the first chapter. Your support and interest means a lot to me! If you want to know news about the fic, you can follow me on tumblr and livejournal as 'Melpomenis.' I hope you enjoy this chapter! A thousands thanks to 'the artful scribbler' who as always, did a wonderful job as my beta.
> 
> WARNING! This chapter contains a Non-Explicit Rape Scene. So if this upsets or disturbs you, please don't read it. If not, you read at your own risk...

 

...

I take a deep breath, enjoying the smell of wild lavender and fresh grass, the invigorating mix of nature and brisk, clean air.

The sun is half hidden behind the clouds but I'm warm enough from the exercise. I keep climbing carefully up the steep terrain, trying to keep my footing on slippery ground, as Harry and I ascend towards the top of Stoadshead Hill.

I remember the last time we roamed this hill. It was back in the summer before our fourth year at Hogwarts, and we followed this same path in order to travel through a Portkey, to attend the Quidditch World Cup. Now, though, the destination we are headed for is far cry from that joyful, fun-filled place, and there is no excitement to bouy my steps, just a sense of grim determination. I'm getting puffed and my throat is dry, and I can feel an oncoming stitch in one side.

I turn back to check if Harry is alright. The wind blows harder as we reach the summit and Harry's usually wild black hair, is even more unruly and spread across his face. He gives me a reassuring smile, and we continue on in silence.

Suddenly a clump of thick grass catches around my feet, and I stumble.

" _Impedimenta!_ " Harry yells just in time, before I can hit the ground with any force. "Are you ok, Hermione?" he asks concernedly, extending his hand and helping me to stand clumsily up. I nod and mumble a 'thank you.' "Come on, we're almost there."

After a few minutes –which seem like hours to me– we reach the top. I look my wristwatch: a quarter to nine.

"Harry! We only have fifteen minutes left!" I snap anxiously at him.

I watch him fumbling with his backpack and he hurriedly extracts an old, dirty pottery vase. Exactly the kind of object muggles would not find suspicious if they happened to come across it.

"Are you ready?" Harry asks, placing the vase on the ground and readying his wand.

"Yes," I reply, producing my wand too, "I'm ready."

"Then I'll let you do the honours."

I point my wand towards the cracked vase. " _Portus_ ," I enunciate clearly.

There's a faint glow of blue, but it disappears as soon as we kneel down. I take Harry's hand into my own, and lift one finger to lightly touch the portkey. My stomach lurches and I feel like I'm being pulled down into a whirlpool or plughole. Everything dissolves instantly; I'm spinning and spinning into this maelstrom of vivid, kaleidoscoping colours.

I let go and plummet down and down, trying to brace myself for a hard landing. Abruptly, I crash onto hard stone, bruising my back and bottom and rolling several times over.

Oh, my head…

I'll never get accustomed to travel by Portkey.

My hazy vision adjusts slowly, and when the uncomfortable dizziness is gone, I pull myself to my knees with a groan, then clamber to stand up.

I survey my surroundings with a mix of interest and trepidation.

We are standing between two walls of high bushes, which extend like a long corridor towards a huge iron gate. The gate is itself grand and imposing, but it is dwarfed in comparison by the enormous structure behind it.

I stare in amazement at the vast building of grey sandstone with so many towers and floors, that it looks more like a castle than a manor. It reminds me of one of those ancient and haunted mansions I've seen in muggle movies with my parents.

_Heck! That is really immense!_

So this is the notorious Malfoy Manor, is it?

I've been here before, once. But that time I wasn't able or inclined to inspect its façade.

I shudder with cold and something else as well.

_Well, at least I'm not going in there alone._

I look around for Harry. He is right beside me, looking warily at the manor through the bars of the iron gate.

"Don't worry," he says grabbing a hold of my hand reassuringly. "I won't leave you alone, not even for a second."

So, on we go.

Together we push open the gate, and it yields noiselessly, then we walk up the driveway. I don't know what Harry is feeling, but the hand encasing mine gets tighter, the closer we get to the huge, looming mansion.

At last we reach the towering ebony doors of the main entrance. Before either of us can knock, they swing open with an eerie creak, but it is not Lucius Malfoy who greets us. Standing there before us is a little house-elf, staring up at us with wide, glassy eyes.

"I is Hooky," he says with a shrill male-falsetto voice. "Hooky is pleased to receive Harry Potter and Harry Potter's friend to Master's manor."

"The pleasure is ours, Hooky," I say, giving my warmest smile to the little creature. "And where is your…umm…Master?"

He beckons us to enter. "Master awaits Harry Potter and Harry Potter's friend in his drawing room. Master has instructed Hooky to bring his visitors to him directly."

I follow both Hooky and Harry through a great, dimly-lit hallway. The walls are adorned with thousands of ancient portraits of blonde and pale wizards and witches. I can feel their impassive glares of contempt boring into my back.

Suddenly it feels very claustrophobic in here.

I tense.

_Geez Hermione, get a grip. The faster you do this, the faster you'll get out of here._

I step into a large, dark marble room, appointed with expensive, elegant furniture. A horribly familiar room…

But as I peer around, I see no trace of Mr Malfoy. I'm not entirely sure if that is a good or a bad sign.

There's a sudden 'pop', and Hooky disappears.

The drawing room falls into creepy silence.

I try to negate my obvious discomfort by fixing my eyes on Harry. He is roaming across room, apparently fascinated by the collection of weird magical artefacts on the wooden shelves. A peculiar ornate crystal bottle, filled with some mysteriously-glowing purple liquid, catches his attention. To my utter horror he picks it up, and I run towards him with words of reproach rushing to my lips.

"Kindly remove your hands from _that_ , Potter. It is quite delicate," a familiar voice drawls behind us, making me gasp in surprise. I turn slowly back to where the owner of that silky voice stands.

There, under the threshold, stands Lucius Malfoy. He is as imposing and intimidating as ever, with his fastidious, expensive attire, only partially concealed by formidable, black robes. I feel out of place and self-conscious with my plain jacket, jeans and old boots, compared to the impeccable outfit of the wizard in front of me.

His hair is pulled back smoothly, emphasizing the sharpness, even the harshness, of his flawless features. Any sign of the broken man I last saw during the war has disappeared, replaced by his old, supercilious self.

His haughty face betrays no emotion as he glares at Harry with cold and narrowed eyes.

Quickly, reflexively, Harry replaces the object, like a child caught taking candy from a jar. "Good morning, Mr Malfoy," he greets the older wizard, with embarrassment evident on his face. "I'm sorry, I was just… taking a look around."

"I can see that," Mr Malfoy drawls, walking with a graceful gait across the room, towards the shelf. "However, Potter, I suggest that you restrain yourself from playing with unknown objects," he remarks dryly. "They may have dangerous properties, which, if disturbed, can incur rather unpleasant… repercussions."

Harry winces a little, and I see Mr Malfoy sneer.

 _Smug arse_ , I think angrily. He obviously relishes making everyone around him as uncomfortable as possible. Piqued on Harry's behalf, I exclaim, "We presumed you wouldn't be _allowed_ access to dark objects any more, Mr Malfoy." The words sound combative, and I bite my lip, thinking that I should be doing my best to secure this man's co-operation, not his antipathy.

Lucius Malfoy's head turns and his gaze connects with mine. His pale grey eyes gleam and his eyebrows arc with mild surprise. It's as if… he hadn't expected to see me here.

I shoot Harry an accusing glare. It's obvious he had not told Mr Malfoy that I'm the 'friend' he's bringing to see him.

I raise my eyes to his face again, and the tall wizard continues to scan my face, with keen eagle-like intensity.

My mouth has gone suddenly very dry.

"Mr Malfoy," Harry rapidly interrupts what is beginning to feel like a rather-odd staring competition, "Surely you remember my best friend, Hermione Granger?"

Harry's only trying to relieve the palpable tension in the air, but those ill-chosen words just make it worse. Of _course_ Mr Malfoy remembers me. Last time we met in this room, I was being tortured by his sister-in-law.

Realising his blunder, Harry hooks my arm with his and adds, rather defiantly, " _She_ is the one who instigated this meeting, so I suggest you make her feel welcome."

This seems to bring Mr Malfoy back to his senses. He blinks, straightens, and gives me a curt nod before murmuring, "Miss Granger… I own, this is quite a surprise..."

"Mr Malfoy." I manage to squeeze out the two words, reminding myself that I must not let our old enmity ruin my one chance of fixing whatever is wrong with me.

Recovering his equilibrium, Mr Malfoy directs us to a couch in the centre of the room. I watch him move his wand towards a cabinet and retrieve a bottle of wine bottle and three glasses.

"Elf wine, 1900's vintage," he says casually, at my questioning glare. "A fine one indeed."

He takes his place opposite us, handing us each our drinks. I accept mine reluctantly, careful not to let my fingers touch his.

"So, Potter, to what do I owe the pleasure of your presence in my _humble_ abode?" His sarcastic remark makes me actually roll my eyes this time; fortunately he seems not to notice. "I believe you said you and your _friend_ had an interesting proposition regarding my current…situation, isn't that so?"

"Possibly, Mr Malfoy," Harry replies guardedly. "Actually, it depends on you. – On your answer to a particular question."

Mr Malfoy leans forward, regarding us with an inquisitive gaze as he rests his pale hand under his chin. He seems calm, but I can sense something stirring beneath that placid surface... "Well?" he says, with a degree of impatience. "What is this question? Ask what you must, Potter."

Harry tries to meet the wizard's stare confidently, but his voice is somewhat nervous. Not surprising, given the subject he is about to broach. "Well, sir," he says, "We need to know how true the rumours are regarding Mal– erm, your son's whereabouts. I mean... is he really missing?"

Lucius Malfoy tenses, and a shadow crosses those sharp features. I can see a muscle angrily twitching in the smooth line of his jaw. "Do you wish to imply that I have simply fabricated my son's disappearance?"

"No, of course not, we were just wondering–"

"Just wondering? I see," he interrupts Harry, sounding somehow oddly distant and very icy. "Well, Potter, judging by the lack of Draco around the house, I dare say he is very missing indeed." He speaks dryly, but his tone is unutterably bitter.

I've never seen Harry blushing like that before.

_Oh God…this isn't going the way it's meant to!_

"He didn't mean it like that, Mr Malfoy!" I blurt out, trying to placate the older wizard's anger and relieve Harry's mortification at once.

He turns his cold gaze on me. "Did he not, Miss Granger?" he says, and the corner of his lips twitch in that imperious smirk so native to his features. "What _did_ he mean, pray tell?"

This is no time to spar, so I simply reply, "Of course we believe that Draco has been... taken. What we need to know is – by _whom?_ You told the Daily Prophet that you knew who was behind it all. How certain are you about that, Mr Malfoy?"

His eyes narrow calculatingly. "Ah, you must be referring to my former… colleagues, who remain presently at large. Am I right, Miss Granger?"

I feel my nerves quaver. "Yes," I tersely admit.

"In that case," he replies impassively, "I can answer your question in no uncertain terms. There is no doubt that the fugitive Death Eaters of whom we speak are the same miscreants who have taken my son."

I watch as he leans across to top up Harry's glass with the elven wine. Mine remains untouched.

"Now," he murmurs, "If there are no more unfounded questions, I should like to get straight to the point of our meeting."

Unfounded questions? Such an arrogant man!

"Very well," I hiss through my teeth, trying to keep my composure, "You see Mr Malfoy, we are here because we can offer you a chance of avoiding Azkaban."

His expression remains composed, but I can see his silver eyes glittering with interest. He appears to be measuring my words for a moment, then softly he replies. "In exchange for what, Miss Granger?"

"Well, I…."

He cocks an eyebrow, waiting for me to continue.

I cast a pleading look at Harry, who clears his throat nervously. "We are led to suspect that Hermione has been cursed, Mr Malfoy," he explains quietly. "It appears to have happened months ago, probably during the Hogwarts battle."

I stare nervously at anywhere but the man opposite me.

There's a brief pause. "Tragic indeed," Mr Malfoy drawls and I quickly look back at him, expecting to see a mocking sneer accompanying those words. But instead I see that he has adopted a thoughtful countenance. "But what does it have to do with myself, or Draco for that matter?"

"Because I'm sure that one of those absconders cast the curse," I reply, in a matter-of-fact tone. "And if you really are so absolutely sure that these same people have Draco, then our paths are leading in the same direction."

I turn my gaze to Harry. He looks startled by my sudden self-confidence.

So does Mr Malfoy, though he is better at hiding it.

_Ha! Is this still 'unfounded' to you?_

He can't suppress a sour grimace; his cold, grey eyes urge me to continue.

"Besides, this curse is related to the Dark Arts," I point out, twisting my hands on my lap. "We need a person with sufficient knowledge in these area, so we can find a cure as soon as possible."

He takes a sip of his drink. A small smile appears on his pale face. "And you immediately thought of me as the perfect candidate, Miss Granger?"

I nod.

"How… touching."

I feel my cheeks burning in embarrassment at his mocking tone.

"Well there were no other 'candidates' available," I blurt out indignantly. "The list of dark wizards no longer loyal to their cause is rather short, so you see I didn't have much choice in the matter."

He tilts his head to one side elegantly, regarding me with a derisive smirk.

Obviously, he finds me amusing.

"The point is Mr Malfoy," Harry says, once again trying to break the tension stretching between myself and the blond wizard opposite me, "that we'll make sure the Ministry concedes you your freedom, if you agree to help Hermione in finding a cure for her curse, as well as finding those Death Eaters."

I hear Mr Malfoy take a sharp intake of breath and his eyes narrow towards me thoughtfully, considering the offer.

Harry continues, "And that way, you'll be able to find your son as well."

"I shall think about it Potter," the man answers at last, leaning back in his seat. "However, before I agree to anything, I should first like to speak with Miss Granger for a few minutes. – _Alone_."

What? Oh, no.

I peer worriedly at Harry. His face has gone so pale he looks like he might faint. "There's no reason to–"

"Never-the-less," interrupts him smoothly, "It is what I require before I make my decision."

Lucius Malfoy chuckles at my horrified expression. "Oh, there is no need to look so worried, child. I only wish to satisfy my curiosity on a particular point."

I bristle at the word 'child', but let it pass with an ungracious scowl.

He stands abruptly, showing Harry to the exit. "I assure you it won't take too long; so, Potter, if you don't mind..."

His voice leaves no rooms for arguments, so I watch my friend walk away and disappear through the door with a last helpless glance back at me.

_So much for 'I won't leave you alone, not even for a second.'_

I stand and turn around, staring nervously at Mr Malfoy. His mercurial eyes betray no emotions, yet somehow I suddenly feel like a small animal cornered by some dangerous bird-of-prey.

But he simply gestures for me to sit back down and joins me, this time assuming the place which Harry has vacated, rather closer than I'm comfortable with. Up this close he seems even more forbidding and physically intimidating, and I'm unpleasantly reminded of the last time I was so close to a Death Eater...

He doesn't immediately speak, merely continues to watch me in an odd way, and I feel certain he is once again enjoying the discomfort and awkwardness that he is creating.

I quickly avert my eyes from his.

"What do you want to talk about Mr Malfoy?" I finally ask. My tone is a little harsher than I intended.

He raises one eyebrow in apparent amusement. "Now, now, Miss Granger, there's no need to be so rude," he murmurs with feigned chagrin, but the corners of his mouth twitch up in a smug smirk.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "I'm sorry, _sir_."

His chuckle gives me chills.

"You see Miss Granger, I'm a little bit curious about this proposal of yours."

"What do you mean?"

He leans closer to me, and it's all I can do not to shy back from him.

"I quite understand your wish for me to help you find a cure for your _problem_ ," he says softly, his eyes scanning my face coolly. "What I don't understand, is why you want so badly to find these people."

Well…

"Or are you just looking for the 2000 galleons' reward?" he asks mockingly. "Fortune hunter, Miss Granger? I never would have guessed."

I glower at him. "It has nothing to do with that."

"Is that so?" he murmurs suavely. "Pray enlighten me then."

I… I can't tell him.

For the first time, I take a sip of the wine he served, trying to settle my nerves. It's surprisingly sweet and delicious.

His hawk-like gaze follows my every moves.

"I just want to confront the man who cursed me, that's all," I tell him calmly, but I'm grabbing the arm of the couch tightly with one hand, and the other holding my wineglass is trembling. "I want to find him and bring him back to justice."

He levels his gaze at me suspiciously, not fully convinced.

_Please, don't ask anymore._

I turn my eyes away from his piercing, invasive stare, suddenly aware of the fact that this man may be a Legilimens.

He gets up from the couch and begins to pace unhurriedly around the room. The heels of his boots echo across the marble floor with each step. He stops short at the fireplace, staring at the crackling flames. I can't help noticing how imposing and elegant his tall frame looks in this attitude, with his hands clasped behind his back.

I wait for a couple of… Seconds? Minutes? Until his thoughts finally snap back to the present, and he turns around to face me again.

He makes the briefest of nods. "I shall accept you proposal, Miss Granger," he says, walking back towards me. "But I should warn you, that the task ahead will be neither easy, nor pleasant. There may well be... consequences."

He is frowning and his lips are pressed together in a serious, grim line.

"I know, sir."

"And do you accept them?"

I pause for a moment before quietly replying. "I do."

"Good," he drawls dryly. "I believe we have a deal, then, Miss Granger."

"Yes, we do sir."

_There, it's done._

Unexpectedly, he extends his hand towards me. I tremble a little at the thought of touching his bare skin with my own... but I remind myself that if we are now to be partners, I ought to be able to perform this most basic of conventions without going to pieces.

Carefully I place my wine down and let my hand slip into his.

It is surprisingly warm, and there is an odd tingling sensation, which begins where our palms meet and seems to travel up my arm and over my whole body. I feel strangely calmer, more at-ease.

Our eyes connect as we shake, and this time his smile is not so brittle. My cheeks flood with warmth once again, and I withdraw my hand quickly.

He stands and gracefully saunters towards the entrance of the room, "Shall we?" he asks, opening the huge doors with a flick of his wand.

I can see Harry waiting just outside, his green eyes wide with worry.

"I do believe everything is in order, Potter," Mr Malfoy says sharply. "Your friend and I have come to...an agreement."

...

I'm trying to keep my mind calm. Doing my best to get some sleep in this stormy night, but I can't help replaying the day's events over and over in my mind.

Did I really convince Lucius Malfoy into helping me?

Are we truly meant to work together from now on?

I remember how, just a few months ago, I'd have preferred to send my soul to the devil himself, rather than making any sort of pact with a Death Eater. If anybody had told me I'll be recruiting Lucius Malfoy's help, I would have laughed in their face.

The irony is too much.

Now, though…

But surely he _has_ changed? I mean, he didn't just defect from Voldemort for nothing. He did it because, in the end, he realized his son was far more important to him than anything else.

_But he is still arrogance personified._

Well, yes.

But I do believe in Professor Dumbledore's words. Everyone deserves a second chance, including _him_.

_We'll have to wait and see…_

Crack!

A noisy roll of thunder makes me cry out, and I dive under my bed cover, my pulse racing with terror.

_Are you five years old again?_

Oh, I do hate storms.

I pull the blankets tighter around my body, trying to gain some warmth. There's a soft knocking at my door.

"Hermione, are you okay?" A concerned voice asks from the other side. Ron's voice. "May I come in?"

"Umm… Yes, come in Ron."

He opens the door and silently steps inside my room. "Why were you screaming?" he asks frowning, "Were you having those bad dreams again?"

"Oh no," I reassure him with a smile, trying to hide my embarrassment. "I just got frightened by the thunder. You know how I hate it."

He nods and sits on the bed besides me. "Bloody hell 'Mione, I just can't explain how this could have happened to you."

"It's okay Ron, really," I say reassuringly to him. "What matters now is how we're going to stop it."

"I know but, I can't stop blaming myself for this!" he bursts out, unable to contain his frustration and anger. "I was supposed to protect you!"

I bite my lip guiltily. "Ron, please stop blaming yourself. We both knew the risks at the time and accepted them. It was the right choice – the _only_ choice. You aren't to blame for what happened, a-and neither am I." I say the last words fiercely, trying to convince myself.

He takes my hands in his, and his touch warms my heart. I smile at him and squeeze his hand back. Briefly I'm struck by the difference between Ron's familiar clasp, and the tingling, almost electric touch of the blond wizard with whom I made my pact.

"Besides it won't take much longer," I add, almost mumbling the words.

He looks at me, puzzled. "How's that, 'Mione?"

I know I should tell him, but the words stick in my throat. "I – I can't tell you right now, and please don't insist," I beg him sweetly, silently scolding myself for putting it off again. "I promise to tell you everything tomorrow. Just trust me, please."

For a moment he looks like he's going to protest, but then surprisingly he just nods. He looks a little weary and... sad.

"I trust you, Hermione," he affirms, leaning forwards and giving me a light peck on the cheek. "And I love you."

More guilt. Tears threaten to escape my eyes.

"I love you too Ron," I whisper. "It will be alright, I promise."

I watch him silently walk out of the room.

Oh God… Why is everything like this? I want to tell him – everything. Not just about my deal with Lucius Malfoy, but everything that happened, that night, when my life changed forever... But how can I? How can I look in his face and watch it crumple when I tell him what was done to me? How can a bear the pain I know I will see in his eyes – the questions, the blame, the rage, the helplessness?

I rise from my bed and catch my reflection in the bedroom mirror. Hesitantly I move over to it.

Do I look different now? I feel as if I must. As if it is written all over me in glaring red ink. After all, I'm _not_ the same person as the confident witch who entered the Forbidden Forest in search of her friend that night...

But when I inspect my features, all I see is an exhausted-looking young woman, a little too thin, much too pale, with haunted eyes.

It's in my eyes that you can read what happened to me, if you look closely enough. The evidence of a painful truth...

...

_...I drift back into consciousness slowly. Everything is so fuzzy and dark… I'm lying on the freezing ground, dizzy, scared and so terribly weak. I can barely manage to stand. As I stagger to my feet, that raw pain returns to my left shoulder, making me cry out in agony. I bite my lip to stifle my scream, grabbing my shoulder._

_It's not bleeding, but it feels almost like some kind of acid was poured directly onto my skin, burning, dissolving my flesh… Oh no, what has he done to me? And most importantly,_ where _is he…?_

_Dizziness recedes as fear takes over. I peer around me, trying to get my bearings. I seem to be in a small clearing in the forest, surrounded by thick bushes, with the dark canopy of trees above._

_Thankfully, I'm alone._

_I reach instinctively to extract my wand from my pocket – and for one terrible moment I can't find it. I gasp, patting my disordered clothes hurriedly, trying not to panic. Then I see it a few feet away, lying on the ground near the edge of the bushes._

_I breathe a sigh of relief. Despite the fact it used to belong to the crazy witch who tortured me at_ Malfoy Manor _. Any wand, even a dark one, is better than no wand._

_As quietly and quickly as I can I creep over to where it is lying. I only hope I can find Harry, or a way back out of the forest, before any other Death Eaters find me, or the man who hurt my shoulder returns._

_I'm just in the process of kneeling to retrieve it, when a dark shadow falls across me. My hand is suddenly kicked away, and the wand covered by a large, black boot. My original slim vine wand would have smashed beneath that heavy heel, but Bellatrix's hard-walnut baton remains in tact._

_My heart pounds and my mouth goes dry as I look up to see the black robes and sinister mask of a Death Eater looming over me._

_Oh my God. It's_ him _. The wizard who wounded me. He has been waiting for me in the surrounding murkiness of the trees. With a gasp of terror I stagger up and away, but the man's hands shoot out and he catches my arms, pulling me back to face him._

_"You..." he murmurs softly, "...exactly where do you think you're going, girl?"_

_The pain in my shoulder is unbearable and I'm shaking badly. "Let me go!" I cry desperately._

_The blank expression of the ornate mask is terrifying this close. In the depths of the black eye-holes the man's dark eyes glint menacingly. "If you knew what was best for you, Mudblood, you'd never have come here." His voice is horrible, barely human, distorted by his mask. "Especially after your foolish friend's...unfortunate fate."_

_Those words sink painfully in; I'm starting to hyperventilate. "What d-do you mean?" I gasp. "Where is Harry?" My heart is thudding with dread, and I'm terrified of the answer he may give me._

_"The Dark Lord has taken care of him," he informs me coldly. "He's dead."_

_A tide of grief and despair washes over me. I feel like I'm drowning. Harry. My best friend... I feel utterly helpless, crippled. ...Not Harry. He can't be dead. He can't be!_

_And then to my utter horror and rage, I hear the man chuckle._

_For a moment I'm frozen by that sound. Then, almost dizzy with rage, I begin wildly hitting and punching at the man, my fists pounding against his hard chest. "You coward!" I shout at him. "Why don't you kill me too?!" I'm so overcome with anguish, at that moment I truly mean it. "Go on! Kill me!"_

_The wizard grasps my wrists, jerking them roughly behind me as he leans down to murmur tauntingly in my ear. "Oh, I'm not going to kill you, Mudblood."_

_"Let me go, you coward!"_

_"There's no need to call names, girl. You think your precious Chosen One was so brave? No, he died like the beaten cur he was, begging for mercy and blubbering for his mother to save him."_

_"Liar!" I cry, struggling uselessly against the man's iron grip. Almost beside myself with rage at his disgusting words, I spit at his mask._

_The Death Eater knocks me to the ground with a single blow, but I barely feel the physical pain. I'm crying hysterically, and my words are distorted by my gasping sobs. "Harry was a thousand, thousand times the man you'll ever be...You're no man at all..."_

_He lunges towards me, and instinctively I roll over, trying to scrabble away from him, then cry out as his hand clamps around my ankle._

_He's dragging me backwards, until he's above me and over me, one hand gripping a fistful of hair, the other encircling my throat as he presses me bodily beneath him. "I'll show you how much of a man I am, Mudblood," he hisses. His voice is furious, but there is something else in it as well, something which turns my blood to ice…_

_With a sickening wave of understanding, I realise what his intentions are._

_"No! No—don't!" I cry desperately, struggling and struggling against him, trying to summon all the energy I have left to push him off me, but his weight is crushing me, and his grip is too strong. I can hear material tearing, and I redouble my efforts, biting and clawing – until finally he grabs my injured shoulder, and I'm blinded by a starburst of agony. It's too much, I can't breathe...I feel like I'm falling into darkness..."Stop – pl-please," I beg, but my protests mean nothing, my struggles mean nothing..._

_There is more pain, even more terrible, to come. ...I had been saving myself for the right time with Ron. Waiting, dreaming of some happier future day, when the darkness was far behind us, and we could share a perfect moment of true bliss, uncontaminated by cloying worry and gnawing fear..._

_He shatters that dream. Shatters it and stamps it into the dust, and leaves me lying in its wreckage, sobbing on the frozen forest floor..._

A noise outside my room pulls me out of my horrible reverie, and I jump, blinking myself back to the present. When I catch my reflection in the mirror, my face is streaked with tears.

I run towards the sink and splash cold water on my face, in an attempt to control my sobs. The sound of the water flowing from the taps is somehow relaxing.

_Just breathe. Everything is going to be alright._

I wish I could believe that. It is my only hope.

I feel so empty and... unclean. Dirty. I never felt more affinity with the derogatory name I've been called so often in my life. _Mudblood..._

But I can't let this beat me. I have to move on. And I'll need to put on a strong mask if I'm going to go through with this, no matter what I'm feeling inside.

I take some deep breaths, until I'm calm. Then I blow my nose, dry my face with a fluffy towel, and head back to my bedroom.

I'm so tired…

Well, tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow my journey will begin. And I know for sure I will not stop until I've found that man, because I swear to God that he will pay.

I pull the covers tightly over me, and let sleep carry me into oblivion.

 


	3. The Trial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello there! First of all, thank you for your encouragement, reviews and more importantly, for your patience. I would like to apologize for my delay updating the story. University life is driving me crazy but I'll do my best to update earlier! Infinite thanks to my beta and foremost friend 'the artful scribbler', who as always, applied her fine touch to this writing. Also, special thanks to 'dhazellouise' who designed this brand new book-cover. That been said, enjoy the chapter! Feedback would be appreciated too!

 

...

I wake up rather late the next morning.

Breakfast passes in a blur, and I can barely manage to eat anything. The knowledge of what I'm going to be doing in a matter of a few hours makes me almost ill with anxiety and guilt. I wonder what the Weasley family would have to say to me if they knew the truth. What Ron would say. Because, despite my promise to Harry that I would tell him everything, I simply haven't been able to bring myself to.

At a quarter to eleven I slip outside and apparate to Whitehall. Harry is already waiting for me outside the red phone booth used for Ministry Visitors.

"All ready, Hermione?" he says with a small smile, although his green eyes look serious and concerned.

I nod, and together we step inside the booth. Harry dials the code, 62442, and the box begins its slow descent below ground. Moments later we alight in the heart of the Ministry Atrium. I step out into the enormous, cavernous chamber, followed by Harry close behind. But as soon as we are inside, a wave of people surrounds us, making it almost impossible to move or walk.

 I've never seen this place so full of people before!

Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of wizards and witches are crowded into the Atrium, most of them clutching copies of the Daily Prophet emblazoned with the headline, 'LUCIUS MALFOY STANDS TRIAL'. There are also a bunch of newspaper reporters who, as soon as they recognise Harry, make a rush at us through the bustling crowd, waving and shouting for his attention. I firmly grip Harry's hand and we jostle our way towards the security desk on the left side of the room. Thankfully the watch-wizard on duty is quick and deft at his job, waving his Probity Probe and registering our wands before any of the vulturous reporters can get to us.

We hurry through the golden security gates and into one of the waiting lifts. The doors clang noisily shut, and my hands tremble a little as I push the button for the next level down. In a blink of an eye, the metallic elevator stops abruptly at the ninth floor.

"Department of Mysteries," announces an icy female voice.

The elevator opens and we find ourselves in a familiar hallway. The same hallway we found ourselves in on that terrible, terrifying day back in our fifth year... I shiver at the unwelcome memory. 

" _Lumos_." 

"Harry wait!" I whisper nervously, worried about breaking into the wrong room, "Are you sure you know where is it?"

"Yes," he says, turning back to smile reassuringly. "The Courtrooms are this way. I've done this before, remember?"

Of course. He's referring to that incident, when he almost got expelled for casting a Patronus Charm on two Dementors.

"You're right. Sorry."

So on we go, hurrying down a labyrinth of dim hallways, past numberless dark wooden doors, until at last we reach the top of a stone stairwell. 

"This way," Harry says, disappearing into that obscurity before I even have time to catch my breath.

The stairs are narrow and steep, and I experience a sudden, dizzying vertigo which usually only affects me at heights. Gulping a little, I take a deep, steadying breath. Placing my hands on each stone wall, I carefully make my way down the stairs. Finally I see the bottom of the stairs, and Harry waiting for me with a slightly puzzled expression, as if wondering what's taking me so long. But he doesn't say anything, only extends his hand for me to take, and squeezes it reassuringly when I do. We hurry down yet another long, dark corridor, but I notice the walls are rougher and the doors are thicker, braced with iron, like some medieval prison.

Abruptly, Harry stops outside a huge door with a massive iron lock. "Here it is," he says, tucking his wand away and reaching for the doorknob.

All of a sudden, I feel like somebody has cast Jelly-Legs on me. "Are you sure?" I whisper, somehow hoping to stall for time, to prevent the inevitable.

"Yes."

_Don't panic Hermione! You cannot afford to panic!_

I know, but I can't help it. I'm about to speak in front of an entire auditorium full of people, in defence of a man who is supposed to hate me for being...for being who I am.

"Don't worry Hermione," Harry says, sensing my anxiety and distress. "You're brilliant, you'll do it." He squeezes my hand again. "Ready?"

My mind is all but screaming, _NO! NO I'm not ready!_ I want nothing more than to turn on my heels and run back the way we came. To forget this crazy plan, forget that such a person as Lucius Malfoy ever existed, forget everything that has happened to bring me here, to this place, in this moment...

But I can't run. I _won't_ run.

I straighten my back, square my shoulders and clear my throat. "Let's get this over with," I say.

Harry nods briefly, then twists the doorknob. The door opens with a loud creak.

We step into an enormous room, humming quietly with murmured conversation. I survey the courtroom with a mixture of trepidation and amazement. It reminds me of Professor Snape's dungeon in Hogwarts. There is no natural light this far underground, and the great stone walls are adorned with flickering torches, which cast a rather sinister half-light over the auditorium. Two tiers of seated, somberly-robed people rise steeply on either side of the room, looming over us on the ground level. Between the tiers, in the very centre of the floor, there's an empty wooden chair.

I can see Harry out of the corner of my eye, chatting with a tall and bold man, dressed in graceful purple robes, whom I immediately recognise as Kingsley. I move over to him and see his eyes light up when he notices me.

"Hermione!" he exclaims, shaking my hand vigorously. "What a pleasant surprise!"

I return the greeting with a nervous, but genuine, smile. "Good morning Minister," I hear myself saying politely. "How is everything going?"

"Quite well," he replies, as he organizes some papers and files cradled in one arm. "What brings you here today?"

I gulp. "It's a-a long story, actually," I stammer, feeling my cheeks redden with confusion.

Thankfully, he is too busy for a long story. "You must relate it to me later, over a mug of Butterbeer—you too, Harry," he says, with easy sociability. He gestures to a roped-off section marked, 'Approved Visitors'. "Find yourselves a seat. I've just been alerted of Mr Malfoy's arrival and we're about to begin."

He is too busy to notice us walk right by the visitors' section, past the box reserved for 'Witnesses for the Prosecution', and into the tellingly-empty one reserved for the defence.

We have just assumed our seats when the door bursts open once again, and a tall, pale figure is momentarily framed in the doorway, flanked by two dark-robed Aurors. The room goes instantly quiet, as all eyes turn to fix upon him. Mr Malfoy.

I can't help but stare at him too.

He is surprisingly calm, not a single feature of his sharply-chiselled face betraying any kind of nervousness or self-consciousness beneath this universally hostile scrutiny. Gracefully, he approaches the wooden seat, with measured, unhurried steps. As he moves into the light I can see his hands are bound with heavy chains.

How can he remain so cool and calm?

His silver eyes brush carelessly over the audience and his lip curls with an ever-so-subtle contempt. He looks...bored.

However, as he passes by the place where I'm sitting I change my mind. Beneath that nonchalantly placid exterior is not boredom. It is exhaustion. I suddenly remember that this is a man whose son is missing, whose wife is dead, and who is facing a very possible return to Azkaban...or even the Dementors' kiss. I suppose he has no choice but to be calm, or surely he would—anyone would—go to pieces.

He takes the seat as elegantly as if he were in his own house, entirely at his ease. The chains clink loudly in the surrounding rustle of quiet whispers.

" _Sonorus_!" The word rings around the chamber, and Kingsley's amplified voice begins to intone the formalities, swearing the Wizengamot to perform their duties, and taking an Oath, as Chief Warlock, to oversee a fair and impartial trial for the accused.

Finally, he turns to Mr Malfoy. "Lucius Abraxas Malfoy," he says authoritatively, "you stand before us accused of multiple grievous crimes, against which you will now defend yourself to the satisfaction of, or be found to be guilty by, We the Wizengamot. If found guilty, we will decide upon a sentence deemed fitting according to our ancient laws and customs. Do you understand your responsibilities and are you ready to proceed?"

The blond wizard makes a single, slight nod. Kingsley unfurls a large scroll and begins reading from it.

"The charges are as follows. Promoting, supporting and abetting the unlawful activities and practices of the Dark Wizard known as Lord Voldemort. Breaking out of Azkaban while serving an indefinite sentence. Conspiring to usurp the democratically elected Ministry of Magic. Using bribery and intimidation against your peers and associates in a way likely to undermine human integrity, for your own corrupt gain. Using dark and illegal magic, including Unforgivable Curses, for purposes contrary to constitutional obligations of the magical community, the most grievous being the torture and murder of muggles, muggleborns and magical folk.

"Chief Interrogators: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot; Henry Macmillan, former Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Witnesses for the Defence: Harry James..." his speech slows as if unsure he is reading correctly, "...Harry James Potter...and..." he falters to a confused stop, and I can see his dark eyes searching for me in the visitor's section.

"Hermione," I say aloud, trying to make my voice sound firm and calm, ignoring Kingsley's expression of shock and disbelief as he finally realises where I am seated. "Hermione Jean Granger."

And as soon as those words leave my lips, Mr Malfoy turns his head and his gaze locks with mine. I can feel my nerves ignite in a feverish dance, as his grey eyes leave mine to trail over the rest of me. For a moment I think I see a gleam of surprise, quickly hidden beneath his usual impassivity. I can only assume it's my rather grown-up and elegant court-suit that has inspired it. A small but visible smirk plays on his lips, and it takes all my will to not to flush under his scrutiny.

Kingsley's still-disbelieving voice brings me back to the present. "Er, and Hermione Jean Granger." He clears his throat, and in a stronger voice lists off the many 'Witnesses for the Prosecution.' Finally he rolls up the scroll and takes a seat. "This court is now in session," he says. "Let us proceed."

...

The trial takes a full two hours.

I try to stay as focused as possible, concentrating on the lengthy testimonials by the prosecution's witnesses, trying not to let my nervousness for the part I am about to play get the better of me.

Although much of the witness' evidence against Mr Malfoy is circumstantial, the things he is accused of doing make my skin crawl and my stomach churn, and I wonder how a man with such a light and—and beautiful exterior, can be so dark and twisted inside? Again and again, over and over, I find myself wondering what I'm doing here, waiting to defend such a man from the atrocities he has participated in.

Only Harry's reassuring presence keeps me from simply getting up and running out of the room. He sits silently beside me, holding my clammy, trembling hand in his warm, steady one. Knowing the sacrifices he has made keeps my own task in perspective.

Mr Malfoy himself remains cool and collected, replying with brief and concise answers when questioned and cross-examined; reiterating the fact that since his flight from Azkaban, he had essentially been imprisoned by the Dark Lord in his own manor, and that his actions from that point on were performed under duress. I sense a slight shift in sympathies from the Wizengamot when he speaks of the confiscation of his thousand-year-old wand by Voldemort, and its eventual destruction—something no witch or wizard ever thinks of without a shudder.

Finally, I hear the dreaded words ring around the chamber.

"Will the witnesses for Mr Malfoy's defence please stand and present their evidence."

Shakily I get to my feet. My mouth is so dry I don't know how I'm going to get the words out.

For a full minute, nothing happens.

I just stand there, speechless and hot and nauseous, blistering under the baleful stare of so many eyes—eyes which silently accuse me of being a turncoat, or question my sanity...and that one silvery gaze which seems to merely watch with cool curiosity and apparent amusement at my tongue-tied reticence.

There is a rustle of impatient muttering from the tiers. Harry stands up beside me and I hear him whisper, "Hermione, you don't have to do this." And that's enough. Enough to remind me that I don't have to do this, but I _need_ to.

"Witches and Gentlewizards of the Wizengamot," my voice rings out, clear and crystalline. "You may be wondering what I'm doing here, speaking before you today in defence of a man who stands for everything that I do not. A man who has publicly denounced my heritage, my blood-status, even questioned my right to call myself a witch. A man in whose house, and by whose relative, I was subjected to the Cruciatus curse."

The room fills with muffled gasps of astonishment from the audience. Perhaps I should have avoided that last statement.

"It may seem like some kind of strange mistake that such a man would find a defender in the very person he has most trespassed against," I continue evenly, "But Witches and Gentlewizards, there is no mistake. I am here to plead for Mr Lucius Abraxas Malfoy's freedom—not because I wish to justify or excuse his past actions, but because I believe he has _already_ paid for them."

I pause to take a steadying breath. The room is deathly quiet.

"I ask you all to consider the word 'justice', and what it truly means. It is something, which can be served in many ways. It can be meted out physically by a person, or imposed upon by a court. But it may also be met. The criminal himself may seek voluntary restitution. To take one example, it has been widely publicized that Mr Malfoy has been co-operating with the Ministry's ongoing investigations, providing valuable information, which has already helped them apprehend many of his former colleagues, including the capture of the Lestrange brothers. In this way, Mr Malfoy has already taken steps to atone for his past.

"But that is not the only kind of justice. Sometimes, justice is served in a more mysterious way. Muggles have a word for it; they call it 'karma'. It is when someone is made to suffer in ways unrelated to their crime—say, by the loss of a wife, or the kidnapping of a son."

I look at Mr Malfoy as I say those words, and I'm sure I can see some kind of emotion flickering in his eyes, though it is hard to tell what. Pain? Shame? Or is it simply a trick of the flamelight?

Not wishing to be distracted, I turn away again and continue my address. "I am sure you would all agree that these are things which no-one would wish upon their worst enemy, however terrible his crimes might be. But the fact that these things have happened to Mr Malfoy must, surely, make you now reconsider what punishment would be considered 'fitting'.

"Lastly, I wish to remind you that there are other things at stake, which could be put in jeopardy if Mr Malfoy were sent back to Azkaban. We would lose a valuable resource, and perhaps our only chance, to bring to justice the fugitives who remain at large and who may, at this very moment, be conceiving another assault upon the Ministry. Witches and Gentlewizards, _this war is not yet over_. We are not safe— _you_ are not safe, until these criminals are recaptured and put behind bars..."

There is another murmur from the Wizengamot at these words, and I use their discomfiture to press home my advantage.

"...And there is not a single wizard alive who has greater inside knowledge, capability and, above all, the _motivation_ to help us do that, than the man who sits in judgement before you today. Would you truly put your own lives at risk, merely for the sake of punishing a man who has already paid so dearly for his mistakes? No. That would be neither fitting, nor wise.

"Instead I would ask you to see as I see, beyond the mask of the defected Death Eater, and into the heart of the suffering human, the grieving widower and the desperate parent. I ask you to find this man Not Guilty, and allow him to continue helping us bring this war to an end, once and for all. Thank you."

I sink back into my seat and the cool clarity falls away, and once more I'm shaking and hot and nauseous. My head is ringing, my heart is thudding, and I can barely hear Harry's voice as he adds his vote of confidence to mine, detailing Mr Malfoy's defection at the Battle of Hogwarts.

But I feel as if I've done it.

I feel sure the Wizengamot will set Mr Malfoy free. I look over to the man and realise he is still watching me with keen, unblinking intensity, his silver eyes focused on me as if there is no one else in this room. And then, almost imperceptibly, he nods.

It almost feels like a bow, and my pulse leaps and my cheeks redden confusedly.

By the time I collect my composure, the Wizengamot are deciding their votes.

"Those in favour of conviction, now raise your right hand," I hear Kingsley intone solemnly. Several hands go up, but far fewer than I had expected, and a dizzying hope floods through me. Surely that must mean...

"Those in favour of clearing the accused of all charges, now raise your right hand," Kingsley repeats, and a mass of hands raise across the courtroom.

"All arise for sentencing. The defendant Mr Lucius Abraxas Malfoy is hereby cleared of all charges and is henceforth a free wizard, subject to the condition that he continues to aid the Ministry in recapturing the absconded Death Eaters." He turns to address the blond wizard directly. "You will please return your Ministry-issue wand once you have selected a suitable replacement."

Amidst the immediate furore at the sentence, I breathe in a huge gulp relief. With a synchronized flick of their wands, the Aurors free Mr Malfoy of his chains.

I watch him stand up with so much grace, executing a mocking bow towards the Wizengamot. Then once again, he fixes his gaze on me. For a moment I think—I almost expect—that he is going to approach me to thank me, but with a pang of disappointment and hurt, I realise he has no intention of doing so. Instead, he just regards me with a malicious sneer on his lips before disappearing into the crowd, leaving me speechless. The heat once again rises to my cheeks, but this time burning with an angry flush.

_That's all? Unbelievable!_

I resist the urge to run after him.

_Pompous man! As if I hadn't just done the impossible to save his neck?_

A hand on my shoulder jolts me back to the present: Harry's hand.

He hugs me in an engulfing bear-hug, almost choking me, so proud of our successful achievement. I return his hug somewhat hesitantly after a few moments, trying to mask my irritation.

Naturally, it doesn't work.

He releases me slowly, watching me closely with an inquisitive expression. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes Harry. Everything is perfectly fine," I lie through my teeth, forcing up what I think is my most pathetic smile ever.

"Are you sure?" he inquires with doubt, "You look a little… upset."

"Upset? No, no… I'm perfectly fine Harry."

For half a second he looks like he is going to continue questioning me, but instead he nods slowly. We walk through the now-empty rows of chairs and I quickly spot Kingsley, making signs to Harry for us to approach him. "

I think he wants to talk with us," Harry says, helping me descend the stairs of the Witness Box. Kingsley's face is not graced by his usual handsome smile, and the last thing I feel like doing now is explaining myself to him.

"Go on, Harry," I urge him, letting go of his hand and descending onto the level floor as fast as I can. "I'll join you later at the Burrow. I—I have something to do first."

I run away before he has any chance to protest, and quickly slip out of the courtroom. My shoes echo in the empty dark corridor, as I retrace my way along the twists and turns down which I came with Harry this morning. As I hurry along, my heart is pounding with mortification at the man who so casually dismissed me, after everything I have just done for him.

It's so unfair! How dare he persist in treating me so contemptuously? Not a, 'Thank you' or even a, 'Well done, Miss Granger.' Nothing!

_How could I be so stupid? Of course he is not going to change!_

Tears of frustration begin to well up, and I dash them away furiously, determined not to lose it right now. I reach the flight of steep stairs leading up to the ninth floor, and take them two at a time, knowing that the lift up to the Atrium is not far now. I feel almost dizzy with the need to get out of this suffocating, dark atmosphere and into fresh air and sunlight.

Finally the lift comes into view, and I utter an audible sigh of relief. I pause, knowing I have to calm down before making my reappearance in the Atrium. The last thing I want is those vulturous reporters noticing my discomposure. Taking several deep breaths, I smooth my hair and clothes, and wipe away any trace of moisture from my cheeks.

My desire to get away from the Ministry is more urgent than ever, but as I take the first step towards the lift, a maleficent chuckle echoes from the shadows across the hallway.

I stop dead, paralysed in my tracks.

"Well, well, well, Miss Granger," that bothersome and familiar drawling voice sends shivers to my spine. "What a passionate speech you just delivered."

I whirl around to find the haughty figure of _him_ —Mr Malfoy—emerging from the shadows of a black marble column. His sleek blonde hair contrasts brightly against the dark murkiness of the corridor, and those diamond-cold eyes shine in the gloom.

"I must confess I'm quite impressed, given that this is your first public address." He continues to walk slowly towards me, leisurely so. "An 'outstanding' performance, I daresay."

All my humiliation and hurt turns into a coldly-burning anger at his sarcastic remark.

"I'm glad I exceeded your expectations Mr, Malfoy." I reply icily, crossing my arms as I take a step backwards, attempting to preserve some distance between us.

"Indeed you did, Miss Granger," he agrees nonchalantly, as he leans casually against a nearer column, with his head tilted to one side, eyeing me haughtily. "Now, I believe we have some important issues to discuss," he states curtly. Then with a brief gesture to the lift he adds, "Shall we go to my Manor?"

My mouth goes suddenly dry.

Accompany him to his manor...now? Alone? No, thank you.

"I-issues?" I hear myself stammer. "What do you mean?"

"Our upcoming expedition, of course," he drawls cooly. "You don't honestly believe we will be going into this… _hunt_ , without devising a strategy first, do you?" His pale eyebrows arch in mild disbelief, accompanied by his usual sneer. "How very Gryffindor of you."

"Well of course not," I retort, narrowing my eyes at him. "I just don't think it's a good idea to go to your _house_ right now. Besides," I add untruthfully, "I'm waiting for Harry."

"I'm fairly certain Mr Potter can survive without you for a couple of hours," he taunts me, straightening out of his leaning stance to assume his full height. "The question is, can you survive without your precious bodyguard for the same duration, Miss Granger?"

_Oh for goodness' sake! Honestly, can't he just give me a break?_

"Of course I can—if I _wanted_ to accompany you to your manor, that is," I clarify, frustrated and rather flustered. "But as I _don't_ want to, I think it's pointless to discuss it any longer. Have a good afternoon, Mr Malfoy."

My hands tremble a little as I turn my back on him and stride towards the lift. As I approach the threshold I feel a certain satisfaction in leaving him behind—but it soon disappears as I discover that I can't take another step forward. My feet are stuck fast to the stone floor.

"What the…?" I try to step forward to no avail. I am literally glued in place, and in my struggle to free myself I nearly lose my balance, and end up bracing my hands against the closed door of the lift to keep myself upright.

At the sound of his footsteps, I twist around to discover him cornering me slowly, stopping only a few inches away from me. He is sneering at me, and his eyes glittering with amusement as one of his fingers strokes absently-mindedly the wand he is holding.

He hexed me! The nerve of the man!

"How—how dare you?" I yelp furiously at him. "Let me go _immediately_!" I'm too angry to be as frightened as I might otherwise have been to find myself trapped by a Death Eater in a dark corridor.

But his smile only grows wider. "It's amazing how non-verbally cast spells work, wouldn't you agree Miss Granger?" he says in a light tone. "I believe it is very rude to leave in the middle of a conversation."

"Unstick me this minute!" I demand, scrabbling in my robes for my own wand.

He stops me though, grasping my wrist and pulling my wand from my fingers. "Don't even think about it, girl," he growls menacingly, his fathomless eyes boring deeply into mine. In a swift movement he traps my hands with his, pinning them firmly against the door.

"Enough with this childish behaviour, Miss Granger," he hisses, annoyed at my futile attempts to break free from his hold. He crowds me closely, and I suddenly freeze.

I feel overwhelmed, suffocated, trapped—he's too close, too...male. His warm breath ghosts over my neck, and I gasp with fear. Realising that the only way out is to stop fighting him, I let my body slump in trembling defeat. He takes a step back, as if sensing my sudden terror of him, but he does not release my wrists from his grasp.

"Don't you see?" he says, his voice full of impatience. "It is imperative that we begin immediate arrangements for our trip and establish a starting point." His tone is deliberately reasonable; evidently he wishes to overcome my objections rationally, now that he has overcome my resistance physically. "Do you think there is a moment to lose? Every day, every _moment_ that you prevaricate, my son's kidnappers—and the caster of your curse—slips further through our fingers." He lets go of my wrists at last, but remains looming over me more closely than I care for. "That, Miss Granger, is the reason I require your presence in my manor."

Now that he has released me, my fear recedes—but my anger returns in force at his bullying and manhandling.

"Alright then," I spit at him resentfully. "I'll go with you."

"Good," is his brief, hard reply, and he steps aside.

Mr Malfoy flicks his wand, freeing me of his hex, but I immediately lose my balance, tripping over my heeled shoes and staggering forwards. Strong arms seize me before I fall over, steadying me—and just at that very moment, with Mr Malfoy's arms still around me, and my face flushing with awkward embarrassment as I mutter my thanks—the door of the lift suddenly slides opens, and the blinding flash of a camera flares in the darkness.

"My, my!" exclaims a snarky, horribly-familiar, female voice, accompanied by a sharp tick-tick-tick of high-heels on metal floor. "If it isn't Little Miss Prissy! And...the man of the hour, Mr Lucius Malfoy, himself?"

 _Oh, no...What is_ she _doing here?!_

I snort in frustration as the unmistakable blonde coif and overly-tailored magenta twinset emerge from the lift. Rita Skeeter looks exactly like a cat who got the cream, her smile so wide that her gold teeth gleam in the flame-light. She utters a little tutting cry of faux-surprise, brimming with malicious delight. "Care to enlighten our readers of The Daily Prophet as to the particulars of this...intimate rendezvous?"

To Mr Malfoy's credit, he physically shoves Rita Skeeter out of his way and, without a word, strides into the lift, pulling me swiftly in behind him.

"How the hell did she get past security?" I mutter darkly as the lift shoots up to the Atrium.

I can only suppose she used her Animagus form to somehow bypass the barrier. I'm almost sick to my stomach thinking of the article sure to appear in tomorrow's paper…

Mr Malfoy barely shrugs; he doesn't seem particularly perturbed. Moments later the lift lurches to a stop.

As 'The Atrium' is announced, Mr Malfoy turns to me. "If I may make a suggestion, Miss Granger, a Disillusionment charm might not go amiss."

I'm rather put-out not to have thought of it myself, and grumblingly I perform the spell as Mr Malfoy does the same. We pass through security and push our way through the crawling anthill of journalists towards the row of golden Floo-exits opposite.

Mr Malfoy hands me into one great hearth and holds out the bowl of Floo powder for me to scoop. "Ladies first," he says, with a wry twist of his mouth, and I'm unsure whether to feel insulted or complimented by his mocking gallantry.

I'm aware I could Floo straight back to the Burrow, if I choose. A part of me is sorely tempted to do so.

I throw the powder down. "Malfoy Manor," I hear myself enunciate with perfect clarity.

And as the green flames engulf me away, the last thing I see is Mr Malfoy's glittering eyes and sardonic smile.

 


	4. Arrangements

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I'm back with another chapter. I'm really glad with your reviews, so once again thanks a lot! Betaed by lovely ' the artful scribbler.' Enjoy!

...

 

I emerge from the chimney-place with a loud ' _crack!'_

The first thing I notice is the warmth and sumptuosity of the room into which I've arrived. It looks to be a study, judging by the enormous shelves lining the walls, filled with hundreds of books, scrolls, and magical miscellanea.

The room has a pleasant smell, too: a mixture of eucalyptus, tobacco and man's cologne from what I can tell. ...It reminds me of  _him_.

I step out of the hearth, dusting ash off my robes, and begin to inspect the room more closely.

The walls are draped with dark green tapestries curiously patterned with silver motifs, next to which hang ancient-looking maps and constellation charts, as well as several portraits of self-important men holding tomes and flourishing quills.

A huge desk dominates the central floor space, its black-walnut top gleaming in the low light of a lamp on a curving bronze stand. An enormous leather Chesterfield armchair sits on one side of the desk, and a smaller  _chaise a bureau_ is stationed opposite.

Two tall, arched windows admit a spectacular view of a lake outside, the sunlight dancing beautifully upon its sparkling surface.

Another loud  _'crack!'_ alerts me to Mr. Malfoy's arrival and I turn around to see him crossing the floor towards his desk, his expensive robes billowing with each long stride.

He sifts through the drawers then takes out a pile of several leather-bound folders.

"Do sit down, Miss Granger," he drawls nonchalantly, not looking up as he places the items on the desktop. Each one has a different letter printed on its cover.

I move over to the desk and perch on the edge of the smaller chair, peering down at the folders with narrowed eyes, then back up at him.

"These," he explains with a smooth gesture, "are personal files on the four missing Death Eaters."

_Personal files? But how…?_

"Where did you get those?" I ask in astonishment, as he continues to examine the archives.

He picks one up, staring at it with a very peculiar, intent expression, as if there's nothing else in the room. Then his gaze lifts to connect with mine. Stormy grey eyes drilling into my very soul.

"Never trust anyone, Miss Granger," he murmurs in a murderous voice, his face so grim that I flinch slightly. "That is the first lesson of life."

I nod wordlessly, although I'm not sure what this is all about. Noticing the doubt in my eyes he adds with a sneer, "The second lesson is, always keep your enemies close."

"Enemies? I thought they used to be your  _friends_ ," I reply.

His mouth curves up slightly in response to the sarcasm in my tone. "In my world, those terms are not always mutually exclusive," he replies. "Besides, just because one works alongside someone, does not mean one is obliged to like, respect or trust them."

My eyebrow arches. "So you decided to collect information on every single Death Eater? Just in case something like this happened?"

"Not every single one—but many of them, yes. It never hurts to be prepared, my dear." I stiffen at the unexpected endearment, and I think he does too, but he is better than I at dissimulating, smoothly adding, "Let us say I had a certain...intuition about particular colleagues of mine."

"It sounds like they had just as little reason to trust you, as you did them."

He regards me quizzically before answering. "Death Eaters are like predators, Miss Granger," he says sharply, dragging my attention back to those pale eyes still watching me intently. "They care for nothing save for power. If they perceive someone is weak, I assure you that they do not hesitate in exterminating him or her." There is a gleam in his eyes which causes my pulse to flutter nervously. "Believe me when I say I know this from personal experience," he adds softly.

I don't know what to say to that. After all, he is right. Trusting any of them could certainly end in betrayal or even death...but to have a personal file for each of them? It seems kind of extreme.

"However, we are not here to talk about my distrust of people," he snaps with a mixture of irritation and impatience, quickly taking his seat opposite me. "But about our living targets and their backgrounds."

He gestures me to sit with a flourish of his hand. I drag my chair with a light scrape, as he takes out his wand.

I freeze. But he only smiles and, with a flick of his wand, he summons a glass with a honey-coloured beverage in it. I recognize it immediately as mulled mead. Another flick and a book flies from one of the shelves into his hands. It's an old black leather-bound book titled ' _Pure-Blood Directory'_ in printed, gold letters. I recognize it too, Professor Binns told us about it in class. It was written back in 1930 by Cantankerus Nott himself, with the intention to identify pureblood families to others of the same status.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "You are familiar with this book, I presume?" he inquires, caressing the leather cover with his pale fingers.

"Yes, I am," I reply tersely, wondering if he's mocking me. "It lists the names and estates of _'The Sacred Twenty-Eight'_ , the twenty-eight wizarding families in Britain who  _claim_  to descend from a line of full blood-purity."

He smiles wryly at my emphasis on the word 'claim'.

"Indeed," he replies with a brief nod and proceeds to turn the pages of the book with his wand. "Then you are aware that this book contains information about two of the four Death Eaters we are looking for: Rowle, and Yaxley, to be precise."

He stops on the letter 'Y' and hands me the book, his gaze fixed on me.

I take the volume and inspect the page it is opened on.

"According to the  _Pure-Blood Directory_ ," he continues "the Yaxleys, for instance, have their origins on Aberdeenshire, Scotland. They are known to have two main estates." He takes a leisurely sip from his glass, then adds, "It is my intention that you and I pay these estates a little visit."

I frown. "I doubt we'll find them hiding in their own homes," I reply. "I imagine that's the last place they would think of concealing themselves."

"Bravo, Miss Granger," the blond wizard retorts with a sarcastic sneer, "How very astute you are."

I feel my cheeks flush at his lacerating tone. "I just don't see why we should waste our time—"

"I'll tell you why," he interrupts me, an edge to his voice. "Because it may help us to establish possible connections to your curse. Because it may uncover some clues as to their whereabouts. Because what is left behind often tells us  _more_  than what is taken away. ...Tell me, are those enough reasons for us to ' _waste'_  our time, do you think?"

A little abashed, and sensing his real anger, I quickly back-pedal. "Yes," I say quietly, "I'm sorry...I just didn't think..."

"No, you didn't," he retorts harshly. " _That_  is evident."

He leans over and plucks the book from my hands, snapping it closed, and I press my lips together, blinking rapidly. I refuse to let him see my chagrin—I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

 _What did you expect_ _?_ I ask myself.  _After all, he's a Death Eater, he's spent his life getting his kicks by denigrating muggle-borns_ _._

But when he speaks again, his voice sounds strangely gentle. "Very well, Miss Granger," he says, "now that we are reading from the same scroll, so to speak, I should like you to answer some questions."

A tremble runs through me, and I find myself staring at my hands. "What questions?"

"First and foremost, I would like you to tell me all about this…curse of yours."

My body jerks involuntarily, and ice immediately floods my veins. I don't want to speak of it. Not to anyone, but especially not to such a man as  _he_  is, a man who once wore the same robes and mask as the wizard who afflicted me. The wizard who...hurt me.

No, I won't tell him about  _that_. I can't. But I can and must tell him everything else. Because if we are to get anywhere we need to pool all of our resources, and that includes all relevant information.

So I do. Eyes still firmly fixed on my hands, I explain to him how I am haunted,  _hunted_ , by my dreams; how they transfigure into terrible nightmares from which I scream myself awake every night. I tell him everything I see in those horrible visions, how I find myself being chased through the Forbidden Forest, how I'm trapped and tortured by a hooded figure, how I'm in the midst of the Battle, watching every person I love die in my blood-soaked arms...

When I finish, my eyes raise and connect with his. His expression is intently watchful but blank of any emotion, for which I am grateful. I don't know what I'd do if I saw pity, or mockery, reflected in those silver irises.

My lips are numb as I tentatively ask him, "Do you...recognise it? Do you know which curse it is?"

He leans back in his chair, his lips pursed and fingers steepled thoughtfully. My heart sinks as he shakes his head. "No," he says bluntly, with a shrug. "There are hundreds, perhaps thousands of Dark curses which may cause night terrors—indeed, one need not be Cursed at all to experience your symptoms. They are a widely known after-effect of having suffered a traumatizing episode."

"Yes, muggles call that Post Traumatic Stress Disorder," I concur softly. "But...this is different. It's hard to explain, but I...I feel as if he...the man who hurt my shoulder...is...is  _watching_  them. Watching my nightmares." It's the first time I have ever admitted it out loud and I shudder, a wave of nausea making my stomach lurch horribly. "And nothing can stop them," I whisper, desperation choking my words, "no sleeping draughts, charms, muggle medicines...nothing helps." And I can't help it—I feel hot beads of moisture slip down my cheeks.

"That is because of the curse's dark nature, Miss Granger," he remarks dryly, as if it should be obvious. Then adds, "The only way to fight the dark arts is by using the dark arts."

_Of course, 'fighting fire with fire.'_

"And judging by what you are telling me, this is far beyond a simple case of, as you said, 'Post Traumatic Stress Disorder,'" he explains calmly, resting his chin on his knuckles with a thoughtful expression, before continuing again. "It appears that whomever cast this curse is trying to get into your mind; weakening it, making it vulnerable by reviving your worst experiences."

"But…why me?" I cry in exasperation. "What the hell does he wants  _with me?!_ "

He takes a long sip of his drink before replying, "I cannot guess his personal reasons, Miss Granger. But whatever his motives, you must stop him from controlling your mind." His stern voice matches the intensity of his gaze. "You need to learn to fight his control over you before it exacerbates to the point that the damage becomes…irreparable."

I bite my lip, expecting the worst now. "How severe can it be?"

"It depends on how powerful the wizard is." He shrugs again, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Full possession of your mind by a skilled opponent can incur not only insanity but, in some cases, complete control over your actions too. But as I've told you before, only time will reveal the severity of the progression."

I feel a wild urge to hysterically laugh, or maybe to cry.

_Oh, is that all? Just total possession of my mind and body..._

"In the meantime, I can train you to block your mind from his possession, at least to gain some time."

At first, I don't quite register his words, still processing the horrifying destiny he has conjured up before me. Then, as they seep through to me, I raise my eyes to his hopefully.

"Do you mean you're going to teach me Occlumency?"

In a deep drawl he answers, "Precisely so…amongst other things."

"What other things?"

"You will know in due time," he says suavely, standing from his armchair and walking towards the middle of the room. I turn my head slightly, watching him warily. "For now, we should focus on our departure. It is imperative for us to begin our mission without delay."

"When do you want to leave?"

"I would suggest as soon as possible. Preferably tomorrow."

_Tomorrow? But—_

"But that is so soon!" I exclaim louder than I intend. His head half-turns, enough that I can see the arch of his eyebrows. "I mean, we need to decide what are we going to take with us, supplies and everything—not to mention I haven't..."

_I haven't told Ron anything yet._

"Yes?" he prompts haughtily, his silvery eyes narrowing suspiciously.

I take a deep breath before meeting his eyes; "I haven't told R—Ro— _anyone_  about our departure yet." I don't know why I can't bring myself to say Ron's name.

"Haven't you, now?" he murmurs sardonically. "Well, I daresay you'll find a spare minute in the next few hours to rectify that omission."

"That's—that's not the point!" I return huffily. I rise up, scraping my chair noisily. "A journey of this magnitude is not something to be taken lightly; I  _happen_  to have spent several months during the war camping out in hiding, so I know. There is a lot to consider—all the potions to prepare, the books to source—it could take weeks! Preparation is key."

He smiles at me with maddening condescension. "I couldn't agree more, Miss Granger," he replies, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "And now, if you have no further objections, I should like to show you something."

He gestures for me to follow him, then crosses the room, stopping in front of one of the large bookcases and turning to me with an impatient quirk of his eyebrow. A big part of me—the part that is still huffy—wants to simply turn my back on him and march back to the Floo...but my recent experience of his sticking charm in the Ministry corridor tells me it would be an exercise in futility.

With an ungracious sigh, I walk over to the bookshelf, folding my arms and giving my best, ' _well, get on with it'_  expression.

I expect him to select a book, but, much to my amazement, he flicks his wand and the bookcase swings open like a door, revealing a dark secret passage with stairs that lead in a steep spiral down into God-knows-where.

His hand on my back nudges me forward. "After you, Miss Granger."

_What? He can't possibly be serious!_

...Apparently, he can.

"Is something the matter?" the man asks, with a Cheshire cat smile playing on his lips, almost as if he is relishing my fear.

"No," I shoot back. "Of course not."

"Very well, Miss Granger," he says, then patronizingly adds, "Oh, and do watch your step, the stairs can be...treacherous."

I step cautiously inside the top of the passage, and the light behind is all but obscured by the tall wizard moving in behind me. For a moment—which feels rather like an eternity—I suddenly wonder if I'm being extremely foolish, entering what appears to be a dungeon with one of the most notorious Death Eaters of his time. Thinking rationally, I know Mr. Malfoy has far too much to lose to hurt me, not to mention all the Ministry enchantments placed over the house for his incarceration whilst awaiting trial...but its hard to be rational with a dark staircase looming in front of me, and a dark wizard looming behind.

The bookcase shuts behind us with a loud ' _bang!_ ' leaving us momentarily engulfed by complete blackness.

"Lumos maxima." his voice comes out in a whisper, and I can feel the warmth of his breath on my neck, sending shivers down my spine.

The white light is almost blinding, and it takes my eyes several seconds to adjust. Despite the absence of darkness, the steps still seem very steep and forbidding—as  _he_  put it, 'treacherous'.

With a determined gulp I begin to descend the spiral staircase, taking careful, measured steps, always aware of the wizard behind me, of the whistle of his heavy robes and the hollow click of his boots on the stone.

Finally, we reach the bottom, but the Lumos spell has not reached this place, and I'm once again faced with a dark cavern yawning before me.

He makes another flick of his wand, and immediately several rows of torches jump into flaming life, banishing the shadows and disclosing our surroundings. We are at the entrance of an enormous chamber, its walls entirely tiled with green marble, its vast floor paved with black flagstones.

Lining each wall are tall frames and brackets of shelving, while the floor space is crammed with long tables and freestanding bookshelves. Every available inch is crammed, with thousands of vials, cauldrons, books, candles and magical objects that look completely unfamiliar and distinctly ominous to me. It feels like I've arrived in a creepier, subterranean version of Borgin & Burkes.

 _Dark artifacts,_  I realise, my mouth going dry and my heartbeat thudding heavily in my ribs...

_Lucius Malfoy's own chamber of secrets, is it?_

Deliberately not looking at the wizard who is now standing beside me, I move further inside the room, peering all around me with a mixture of intense unease, trepidation and—I can't help it—interest.

My eye is caught by a tall wooden rack, stretching from floor to ceiling, filled to capacity with glass vials of potions, labelled and ordered alphabetically. It seems like literally every potion known by the wizarding world is down here, from the simplest Essence of Dittany to the rarer Polyjuice potion, to the most dangerous Drink of Despair, its vivid emerald colour shining through its cut-crystal container. My stomach clenches as I glimpse the Draught of the Living Death, swirling colourlessly in a vial, like near-boiling water.

Another shelf to my right is occupied by textbooks—but I can see they are no ordinary tomes. Most of them are bound in black vellum, and there is a strange, dark presence shimmering about them, almost as if they are sentient... _alive..._

Alive, and alluring. I can feel my own magic stirring sympathetically to the seductive, vibrating darkness, drawn to its beckoning power even while my mind is utterly repulsed by it. Suddenly, I understand how people might lose themselves to the temptation of its fascinating call... I know I should simply turn away, but curiosity gets the better of me, and I find myself moving closer to the shelf, leaning in to inspect the titles.

_Let’s see… 'Secrets of the Darkest Art by Owle Bullock', 'Magick Moste Evile by Godelot' and…oh! Merlin's beard…_

"I think you'll find I have everything we need here, Miss Granger."

I gasp in surprise. I didn't even hear him crossing the room. Down here, surrounded by all these objects soaked in black magic, Mr. Malfoy seems to gain a frightening context I am simply not prepared for, which goes well beyond his imposing frame and tall stature. Like the shimmering presence of the books, there is a tangible dark power that flows in and around him, one which he has deliberately contained and harnessed, but could just as deliberately unleash if given the incentive.

Squaring my shoulders, I try not to let this observation unnerve me any more than I already am.

"Where did you get that book?" I ask, pointing to  _'The Dark Arts: A Legal Companion'_. It's very rare and the only copy I've ever seen was in Professor Dumbledore's office at Hogwarts.

"Some questions are better left unasked, Miss Granger." His voice is suave, his expression unreadable, but there is an unmistakable warning thrumming beneath those words. It suddenly feels very claustrophobic down here with him, and I'm unpleasantly reminded of everything he is capable of.

"Alright, Mr. Malfoy," I reply, trying to sound as composed and unimpressed as possible. "I get it; you're already prepared. I understand your point."

"Do you, now?" His eyes light up as he surveys my attempt at nonchalance mockingly. "Well then, all is settled. We shall leave tomorrow."

 _Ugh!_ _It's so unfair! Why does he have to be so in control of everything?_

"Whatever," I say, a little churlishly. "Can we get out of this place now? It's giving me the creeps."

I attempt to brush past him and head towards the staircase, but he suddenly grabs my arm and pulls me hard against him. My cry of protest it cut short by the sudden wrench and turn of his body as he Apparates us back upstairs to the study-room.

For a moment I remain tightly embraced by him, as I try to gain my balance and shake the sickening dizziness that always seems worse with side-along-Apparition. Looking up, I encounter stormy, piercing eyes locking onto mine.

"Remember," his voice comes out in a low raspy murmur, "you have until tomorrow to get yourself ready, or else… I shall take my leave without you."

I tear myself out of his grasp and glare furiously at him.

"I will certainly not be bullied by you Mr. Malfoy," I hiss between my teeth, angry at his manhandling. "You know perfectly well the Ministry won't allow you to go anywhere without me."

He frowns and begins to pace slowly towards me. I take a few backward steps until my back hits one of the bookshelves behind me, leaving me trapped between it and him. There are only inches between us and my heart beats erratically at his proximity and the glittering intensity of his narrowed eyes.

"Believe me, Miss Granger," he drawls darkly, "I definitely do not relish the idea of being your babysitter for Merlin-knows how long, but occasionally one must make sacrifices for a greater payoff. However, do not be mistaken,  _girl_..." He sneers down at me disdainfully. "We will be doing things my way.  _You_  will be doing things my way."

"Why should I?" I snarl at him. " _I'm_  the one who got you off scot-free. You should be grateful—"

A sharp, taunting laugh cuts me off. "Grateful? Oh, no, Miss Granger—you're the one who should be grateful. Grateful that I'm a reformed man. ...Then again, perhaps I'm not so  _very_  reformed after all..."

I gulp as he leans even more closely over me, making me shrink back until the spines of the books are digging into my back. My hands scrabble numbly for my wand without success, but, thankfully, he does not actually touch me. Instead, he murmurs in my ear, "Miss Granger, let me make my meaning quite clear. We will do things my way, or not at all. You have enlisted my help, and as such you will defer to my judgment. ...Do you understand me?"

I know he's deliberately trying to frighten me, and quite frankly, it's working. I wonder (it seems for the hundredth time) if I'm really out of my depth here, attempting to work alongside a man such as him. A man who looks so... _at home_  amongst the dark relics hidden in his subterranean lair.

Wordlessly, I nod.  _Not in agreement,_ I tell myself, _only in understanding._

Straightening up, he takes an elegant step back, and I bolt straight past him, heading for the Floo. As I grab a handful of powder, I hear him address me again. "Miss Granger, I shall send word tomorrow morning of the time and place of our departure. Meanwhile, I wish you a good day."

His voice is, of course, faintly mocking...just like his silver eyes, fixed piercingly on me as I clamber into the hearth.

No longer cornered by the man, I take the opportunity to retort to his earlier bullying. "Fine, Mr. Malfoy. But just so you know, we're not going to do everything your way. We'll be doing it OUR way. TOGETHER."

I throw down the powder, enunciate "The Burrow", and let the emerald flames engulf me.


	5. Hard Decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Okay, I promised to update sooner this time, so here you have another chapter. Thanks a lot for your reviews and opinions, they motivate me a lot! I'll do my best to update sooner next time too, however medical school is being especially hard this year *sighs* so once again I ask you to have patience. Don't fear guys, I'd never abandon this story, you can rest assured. Special thanks to my friend and beta 'the artful scribbler' who as always, applied her fine tone to this chapter. Enjoy and don't forget to review please!

 ...

I Floo back to the Burrow.

My mind battling between a frenzied panic to get packed as quickly as possible and an overwhelming tidal-wave of exhaustion. It's all beginning to catch up with me—the sleepless nights, the stress of the trial, the fraught tension between my strange new ally and me…

Thankfully no one is in the kitchen to notice my arrival, not even Mrs Weasley, so I pour myself a glass of pumpkin juice and walk upstairs right into my room without bumping into anyone.

Heading straight over to the freestanding wardrobe in the corner, I pull open the doors and begin to search the charm-extended interior for the things I need for the journey ahead of me. I begin picking out some clothes suitable for the weather, folding them neatly on the bed.

Then I summon my single suitcase and point my wand at it, reciting the extension charm: “ _Capacious Extremis._ ”

I pack some textbooks, checking them according to the list of essentials I wrote back when Harry, Ron and I first went hunting Horcruxes. I remember how they would joke about me bringing _'Hogwarts: A History'_ , saying it was utterly unnecessary as I knew it by heart already. Of course, they would never understand how important it is to me to have something familiar and light for me to refer back to and keep my mind active with, when the constant imbibing of new information becomes wearying or overwhelming, something I suppose they don't imagine ever happens to me. I pack it too.

Thankfully, I’ll have no problem with potions, as there appears to be more ingredients in Mr Malfoy’s rather eerie underground chamber than Professor Snape’s storeroom.

Not to mention the hundreds of dark magical artifacts within.

I wonder if he'll take some of those…items with him on our expedition?

I don’t want to think about it. I don't need another reason to feel more wary and nervous of the man, than I already am.

Pushing the unsettling thought from my mind, I focus my attention on my list once again.

…

When I look at the wall clock, it's already past six. I’ve spent the whole afternoon packing and reading. Exhaustion is finally winning out over the adrenaline that has sustained me so far.

I collapse on my bed, snuggling into the pillows and closing my eyes. Golden rays of late sun fall over my face through the window.

Light and warmth…then why do I feel so worried and cold?

A niggle at the back of my mind tells me I should go and seek out Ron, to have the talk with him as I promised Harry I would yesterday. I know I can't put it off any longer. It's going to be all over tomorrow's Daily Prophet, and I need him to understand my decision to defend Lucius Malfoy before he reads Rita's twisted account of it.

But I'm just so tired…

Just a short nap and then I'll do it, I tell myself, and immediately drift into welcome oblivion.

…

_I'm crawling through darkness, clawing my way through a field of black nothingness. I can't see, I can't see...and yet I know, I can feel his eyes on me, I can sense the burning menace as he watches me struggle to get away, to find shelter from his gaze. But there is no shelter to be found in this darkness. It is as open and endless as it is suffocating and close._

_“You can’t run away from me, little girl.” His voice echoes mockingly, all around me, through me, over me, in me. “I’m going to find you, and when I do…” He laughs as I helplessly scream into the void..._

A loud hammering on my door drags me out of my nightmare with a loud gasp.

“Hermione?” A male voice permeates through from the hallway.

Everything is dark, and I realise it's night time now, that I've slept far longer than I'd intended. I’m drenched in cold sweat and feel like someone has thrown a bucket of ice cold water over me. Fresh tears are running down my cheeks and my hands are clutching the blankets as if to desperately shield myself from my nightmare.

I try to sit up and hit my head against something hard.

“Ow!”

Panic and confusion washes over me; frantically I feel above me and my hands come in contact with rough wooden boards. For a terrible moment I wonder if I'm in some kind of box...a coffin...

Then realisation hits me.

I'm under…the bed? How did I get down here?

Did I fall whilst sleeping or did…someone drag me down here?

_Yeah, right. I must really be losing it…_

“Hermione?!” Another loud bang on the door interrupts the tumult of my mind.

“Just a moment!” I cry out in a strangled voice, trying desperately to calm my breathing. I crawl my way out from under the bed, pushing the blankets aside and feeling rather stupid at the situation I've got myself into. My back aches and my bottom hurts like hell.

Quickly scrabbling for my wand on the bedside table, I ignite the lamps and take a hurried moment to throw the blankets back on the bed, straighten my clothes and wipe the cold sweat from my face.

I move over to the door, trying to rid myself of the terrifying images still freshly playing through my mind.

God it was so… real. The man’s terrifying omnipresence, his mocking voice, his breath on my neck, his evil laugh...

Reaching the door, I take a deep breath, plaster a smile on my face and open it.

“Sorry, Ron, I fell asleep and...” My voice trails off as I encounter the expression on his face. I haven't seem him like that since...I don't know since when. His face is deathly pale and his eyes seem to blaze with barely-controlled anger.

I feel my own cheeks paling. Has someone mentioned something already? Did his father tell him about the trial?

"Oh, finally back then, are you?” he states sarcastically. “Nice of you to let us know.”

"I told you I just fell asleep Ron!" I gulp at his prolonged scowl. “What's the matter with you anyway?”

He shakes his head in disbelief, a bitter kind of smile contorting his face. Not even waiting for me to invite him in, he pushes past me into the room, slamming the door behind him, then turns on me furiously.

“This.” He shakes what appears to be a newspaper, then hurls it on the bed. “THIS is what is wrong.”

Oh my god. I recognise it immediately. It's a copy of The Evening Prophet, only published when there's breaking news of a noteworthy event that happened during that day. I can easily imagine which noteworthy event it is…

I gravitate closer and my dismay turns to horror as I take in at one glance the headline and corresponding photo which covers the entire top half of the front page.

_‘MALFOY AVOIDS AZKABAN AMIDST GRANGER RELATIONSHIP RUMOURS'_

_An Exclusive Report By Rita Skeeter_

A bright red flush spreads over my face as I stare, appalled, at the image of Mr Malfoy catching and steadying me as I trip over. With his arms around me and his tall form bent over mine, it almost looks as if he were...passionately embracing me.

The caption beneath the photo reads:

_'Femme Fatale lurking at the Ministry: acquitted Death Eater 'thanks' his unlikely defender, Hermione Granger (pictured)'_

Almost petrified with disbelief, I slowly pick up the paper and begin to read the article.

_'The trial of infamous Death Eater Lucius Abraxas Malfoy (see Pg. 2 for complete coverage) culminated in a suprise scandal this morning when our reporters caught the moment that his unexpected advocated and main witness to his defense, Miss Hermione Granger, appeared to receive a very physical token of his appreciation._

_Miss Granger, famous muggle-born witch and one of the self-styled "Golden Trio", refused to comment on her relationship with the man whose freedom she single-handedly secured with an impassioned speech to the Wizengamot (see full transcript Pg. 3)._

_The unlikely 'femme fatale' is known to have a penchant for famous wizards, having been romantically linked to the legendary Harry Potter, his close friend Ronald Weasley, and Pro-Quidditch League star Victor Crum, among several others. It appears the ambitious young lady has now set her sights on conquering the heart of the handsome, recently-widowed pureblood former Death Eater, despite his being old enough to be her father. Indeed, in yet another twist to the sordid scandal, it is understood that Malfoy Snr is the father of one of Miss Granger's Hogwarts class-mates, missing and presumed kidnapped Draco Malfoy (see Pg. 5)...’_

The words blur before me as tears of indignation and blind rage well up.

_That foul, loathsome old Harpy! How dare she?!_

I grit my teeth and look up to Ron's livid face.

“What the bloody hell are you playing at, Hermione?” he snarls hoarsely.

"It's not what it looks like," I stammer indignantly, throwing the paper away with revulsion. “I was only acting as a defense witness, not...”

"So it's true, then?" Ron demands incredulous, jumping immediately on my words. "You were defending Lucius Malfoy? Are you insane?! Lucius bloody Malfoy?"

"I can explain—"

"Explain what Hermione? That you couldn't help playing the heroine for a Death-Eating bastard who allowed you to be tortured in his house? A bigoted prick who hates all mudbloods? Yeah Hermione, please explain!”

A horrible silence stretches between us.

I should have told him before, I know I should have. I could somehow have prepared him for what was coming, but I was too... overwhelmed and shattered by everything that had happened, I just couldn't bring myself to disturb the relative peace and security we had found together. I wish there were some way to calmly and simply explain everything, but the words falter on my lips.

“You know how that woman is Ron, she invents things,” I say, trying to steady my voice. “She's always had a vendetta—”

“Oh right, and I'm sure that explains the photo too, does it?!” His face looks almost green with disgust. “That explains why this...this arsehole has his arms around you?!”

“Of course not!” I cry, frustrated by his anger, although I know it is perfectly justified. “That was an accident! I tripped over and he happened to catch me. You have to believe me, Ron. That stupid cow Rita has been itching to get back at me for three years now, you know she has!”

That seems at last to have some effect on Ron. He swallows and I can see a muscle twitching in his jaw. He is struggling visibly to control himself. “Alright, I believe you about the picture,” he mutters tersely. “But the trial...I don't get it. What were you thinking? Why would you do such a thing?”

I take a shuddering breath.

_You have to tell him the truth, Hermione. As much as you can, anyway._

“Harry and I made a deal with him,” I say, nervously tucking a wild strand of hair behind my ear. “In return for helping him to avoid prison, Mr Malfoy is going to help find a cure for my curse.”

Whatever explanation Ron thought I would come up with, evidently it isn't this one. He looks utterly thunderstruck. “What—what—Harry knows about this?!” I flinch as I realise my mistake. “Who else knows, Hermione? Ginny? My parents? The rest of the neighbourhood?”

“No, no, only Harry! And don't you dare blame him, I made him promise not to say anything before I had a chance to tell you—”

“Oh yeah?” A dusky red of rage is suffusing Ron's face now and I know I'm only making things worse. “And when might that have been? Next fucking year?”

“I wanted to, Ron, It was just so hard to find the right moment!”

“Oh, is that right? How long has it been since you made this—this 'deal' with Lucius sodding Malfoy?”

“Yesterday,” I reply quickly. “It was only yesterday.”

Ron's eyes narrow. “What about Harry? How long since you two started planning all this?” He takes a sudden step towards me and I can't help recoiling a little. “How long, Hermione?”

I bite my lip. “A...couple of weeks ago.”

He nods, and somehow the look on his face is worse than any bitter words he could throw at me. I can see in his eyes the naked betrayal he is feeling. God, why can't I think of something to say to make it better?

“I didn't tell you because I wanted to make sure it was really going to happen, before I bothered you about it.” I cringe at my choice of words, knowing immediately that I've made another blunder.

“'Bothered' me about it?” Ron repeats back at me with a sharp laugh. “Hermione, I'm supposed to be your boyfriend! Or at least I thought I was.” His voice cracks slightly at this, then, as if to belie his vulnerability, he adds acerbically, “Unless you and Harry have decided something different behind my back?”

I shake my head. I just feel so helpless to make him understand.

“I didn't purposefully do this to hurt you, Ron. There's...there is...” I stop to brace myself, trying to somehow mentally prepare to finally admit to Ron the truth about that night. I feel both hot and cold, even just preparing to speak of it is making my heart pound and my body shake. I take a breath and resume. “There are...things you don't know...”

“That's the understatement of the century, isn't it?!” Ron snarls. He seems to be totally blind to the struggle I'm going through; it's still all about him. “In fact, it seems like there's a whole side of you I don't know! And frankly, I don't know if I even want to!”

For a moment I just stare, letting his words slowly sink in. Cut through. And suddenly I'm the one who is filled with rage. “Well, far be it from me to try to enlighten you!” I yell at him. “Why don't you just break up with me, if that's how you feel?”

I expect him to shout me down, but instead he turns away, his shoulders hunching slightly.

“I'm sorry,” he mutters, rubbing his fingers over his eyes. “I didn't mean that. I just...I don't understand what the fuck is going on anymore. I need to get this straight in my head.” He looks at me again. “You made a deal with Malfoy. You keep him out of prison, he will help you break this curse. How? How is he going to do that?”

“We... believe there's a link between my case, Draco's disappearance, and the missing Death Eaters. We're going to try and find them.”

There is a long silence and I drop my gaze to stare at my socks. “Who is 'we', Hermione?” he says quietly, too quietly. “You and me and Harry?”

“No. Just me and Mr Malfoy.”

“I see.” His voice is unbearably icy. “And you imagine I'm going to just let you do this, do you?”

I feel my blood surge in anger. “I can make my _own_ decisions and I certainly don't need your permission for anything Ronald!” I exclaim furiously. “You don't own me, you know!”

“No! I just care about you, although I'm not sure I could say the same about you! And it doesn't take a genius to realise that there are some serious problems with your fucking idiotic little scheme!” Before I can object, he continues, “What exactly do you think 'Mr' Malfoy is going to want in exchange for helping you, hmm? Because a bastard like him doesn't go around bestowing favours out of the kindness of his heart.”

“Well it's obvious, isn't it?!”

“No, it's not! Why don't you tell me?”

_Oh for goodness’ sake! Why is he so thick headed?!_

“He will get his son back!” My voice is harsh and I try to rein my frustrated anger in. “It's just a pact for our mutual benefit, nothing more than that!”

“Yeah right,” he breathes out another mirthless laugh. “I can imagine what other kind of…side benefits that perverted arse will be expecting from you.” He spits the words out venomously, with a grimace of utter revulsion.

“That’s not true!” I cry out, scandalized and disgusted by his insinuations. “Mr Malfoy is not like that!”

“Oh, you know him so well, do you? Merlin’s beard, Hermione! He is a sodding Death Eater!”

“Was, Ronald, _was_ ,” I say desperately. “Wars change people and he is no exception. They’ve got his son, for heaven’s sake!”

He laughs, he actually laughs. “Evil trash like him never changes Hermione! You really can’t be that stupid to believe his lies? I thought you were supposed to be the brightest witch of your age!”

I flinch at his cruel taunt. “You do not have any idea what it has been like for me!” I shout furiously, unable to keep a hold over my hurt and rage any longer. “What I have been through these past months!”

“Oh, and I wonder why is that, Hermione? Because _you haven’t told me anything!_ ”

“Yes, and you haven't asked, have you?!” I retort furiously. “You've _never_ asked me what's wrong, not once! You've just buried your head in the sand and hoped it will all just fizzle out, haven't you? Whenever I've tried to bring it up, you either overreact or refuse to listen! _How_ am I supposed to tell you things when you always throw your toys out of the cot the moment anyone tries to explain anything to you? Don’t even try to deny it Ronald! You just proved my point with this tantrum of yours!”

He closes his mouth and doesn't reply, because we both know I’m right. We're both breathing hard and Ron is blinking rapidly and I can see his anger turning to anguish. “That's...that's not fair, Mione,” he says at last.

It's true.

Despite my fury, despite my protestations, despite everything, I know it's true. I _haven't_ been fair to him and it wouldn't be fair to keep stringing him along under these false pretenses. I'm damaged goods.

The fight, the rage, the heat drains out of me and all that's left is...coldness.

I take a deep breath and in a stony voice I hear myself say: “I’m sorry, Ronald, but I have to do this, whether you like it or not. I can't keep pretending there's nothing wrong.”

And suddenly, with a strangled sob, Ron crumbles. “I'm sorry, Hermione. I don't know what happened to you but...please...whatever is wrong...let me try to help you. _Me!_ Not him! God, please, not him!”

He moves over to me, grasps my arms, pulls me against his chest. He is trying to thaw me, but even his hot tears cannot melt me. I'm a statue made of ice. “Let me help you, ‘Mione.” he begs. “Please...please let me help.”

“You can't,” I reply, my body stiff and unyielding. “It's too late.”

“No!” he whispers fiercely. “Don't say that!” Suddenly he stoops down and with a kind of desperate force, he tries to kiss me.

I twist my head away, horrified and repulsed, my mind is crowding with images of another man's crushing and conquering embrace.

“Stop it Ronald!” It comes out as a terrified shriek. “Let go of me!”

For a moment Ron stares down at me, shocked, then he quickly lets me go, falling back a step. There is a look of dawning horror on his face as if he's finally beginning to suspect something close to the truth. “What happened to you?” he whispers.

I shake my head. My heart is pounding wildly and I'm shaking badly. “It's too late, Ron,” I repeat, my voice trembling but my mind resolute. Deliberately I move past him towards the door.

“But what about me Hermione?” he says piteously. “What about us?”

I come to a standstill near the door and turn to face him. “There is no ‘us’ anymore,” I tersely reply, refusing to break my resolve. I know I have to do this, for him as much as for me. “I'm sorry. It's over, Ronald.”

Then I turn back to the door and open it with a flick of my wand. Exiting out into the hallway, I leave Ron standing there in the middle of the bedroom, looking as dazed and lost as a little boy.

…

I run downstairs, purposely avoiding the dining room where I can hear the hum of after-dinner chat and cheerful bustle of the rest of the Weasley clan.

Slipping out of the back door, I step out into the cool darkness of the garden porch and sink down onto the wooden boards, finally letting waves of emotions crash me over.

I sit with my face buried on my knees and cry, great wracking sobs. I hate to feel this way, hate to feel so helpless, but it’s just that everything is so…unfair. My breakup with Ron, the sheer terror of my unknown curse, what happened to me that night at the hands of that Death Eater...and the gnawing anxiety that maybe this plan I have put into action really _is_ as 'insane' as Ron thinks, that teaming up with Mr. Malfoy is a giant mistake…It’s simply all too much.

I’ve never felt so lonely and hopeless in my entire life. It’s like falling into a bottomless pit.

_Well that's good isn’t it? When you hit bottom, the only place left to go is up…_

Light footsteps alert me to someone’s presence behind me. I look over my shoulder, half expecting to find Ron standing under the threshold. But seeing the moonlight reflected by a pair of round lenses, I realise it is Harry instead.

“Are you okay Hermione?”

“Yes,” I croak out, wiping away the tracks of tears. “I’m fine, Harry, thanks.”

He sits down besides me. “You know, you’ve never been a good liar.”

Despite everything, I laugh bitterly.

“You know how thick Ron can be,” Harry murmurs. “Just give him time, he’ll have to accept your decision sooner or later.”

I gape at him. “How did you…did you hear us fighting?”

He nods. Of course he would have, we weren’t exactly speaking softly and I hadn't Muffliato'd the room. I wouldn’t be surprised if the rest of the Weasley household had heard us as well.

Harry smiles as if reading my thoughts. “I just happened to be on the third floor, so relax,” he reassures me. “Everyone else was downstairs.”

“It's my fault, Harry!” I exclaim. “I should have told Ron before. I knew he would react like this, but I thought that by delaying telling him the truth, I’d have more time to think straight and find a way to put it that wouldn't upset him so much. I was obviously wrong. He discovered everything, thanks to Rita Skeeter’s new article.” I spat that name venomously.

“He’ll get over it, Hermione. I'll talk to him, help him to understand. But…are you sure about this? Are you sure you don’t want us to come with you?”

I know that look. Obviously Harry doesn’t trust Mr Malfoy, and with good reason.

“Yes, Harry,” I reply, summoning a strong voice. “I have to…I _must_ do this alone.”

He sighs and nods, conceding defeat. “At least let me give you something for your journey.”

I watch him pull out from the pocket of his robe his silvery Invisibility Cloak. He puts the neatly-folded magical garment on my lap. “I want you to take the cloak with you, Hermione.” His voice is totally serious.

“Harry no!” I protest, trying to hand it back to him. “This is yours, it's your family heirloom, I can’t take it with me!”

He shrugs stubbornly, refusing to take it. “I don't need it at the moment, Hermione. You’ll have far more use for it than I do, trust me. Especially with Lucius Malfoy by your side.” His face betrays his concern and in a grim voice adds: “Just promise that you will keep this a secret. Don’t let anyone know about the cloak, not even Mr Malfoy, _especially_ not him. Okay? Promise me.”

My brain seems numb. For several moments I continue to gaze at him, open-mouthed, until finally Harry smiles and says, “You look like a Gulping Plimpy, Hermione.”

I blink and regain my composure. “Harry James Potter, you are impossible.” I return his smile, pulling the invisibility cloak onto my lap again. “I promise to keep it a secret and I promise to take good care of it. Thank you for trusting me. Apparently you are the only one who does.”

“It's the least I can do, Hermione. You have helped me so much over the years, it's only fair to return the favour. But that's not the only thing I wanted to give you.”

“It's not?”

He shakes his head, taking out his wand. _“Accio vial!”_ He points towards the cloak and grabs what appears to be a small crystal vial with a strange semi-transparent, pearlescent liquid swirling within it.

I don't recognise it. It's certainly not Veritaserum, nor any of the other potions I'm familiar with. Somehow I can sense it is something very special.

“What is it?” I ask softly.

“Phoenix tears.”

I gasp. It is truly? One of the most powerful healing substances in the world, contained in that slim, delicate little bottle. “Harry this is amazing!” I exclaim, wanting to reach out and touch it, but hardly daring to do so. “But where did you get such a thing? Phoenix tears are incredibly rare, but a whole vial full—it's incredible!”

He smiles rather cockily. “Aberforth gave it to me,” he says, holding the object up to the moonlight to marvel at.

_Dumbledore’s brother?_ _But—_

“But when? And—and where did _he_ get it from?”

“Dumbledore left it to him in his will,” Harry replies. “But Abe didn't realise what it was.” His eyebrow quirks wryly. “You know how Dumbledore always liked to leave things a little...cryptic.”

I nod, remembering how difficult a time we had trying to unravel the meaning of the bequeathals and tasks he left to us.

“Well,” Harry continued, “apparently Aberforth asked Slughorn to identify it a couple weeks ago, and discovered the truth only then.”

“Why did he give it to you?” I ask, my voice hushed with awe.

Harry shrugs. “I think he felt guilty about it. He should have discovered what it was as soon as he received it. It would have come in handy during the war, which was probably why Dumbledore left it to him.”

I nod. “So he passed it on to someone worthier.”

“Something like that.”

We both gaze a while longer at the vial. The substance seems to capture and reflect the very radiance of the moon, slowly stirring in its container, emitting a silvery glow. It is beautiful and serene to look upon, a total contrast to the menacing Draught of Living Death in Mr. Malfoy's possession.

Finally, Harry lowers the vial and slips it into my hand. I know by the look on his face that arguing will be useless.

Tears swim in my eyes again, but this time they are tears of gratitude.

“Thank you, Harry,” I whisper, leaning in to quickly brush his cheek with my lips. He gently puts his arm around my shoulder and squeezes it reassuringly. “If anyone can do this, Hermione, it's you,” he murmurs. “If you ever need my help, you only need to ask. I'll be here.”

He stands up and quietly makes his way back indoors, leaving me gazing up at the beautiful, full moon hanging like a jewel in the dark sky.

I feel much calmer now.

Harry's gifts have given me a much-needed boost of confidence and his soothing words have helped to put my fears to rest.

Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow my real journey begins.


End file.
